


Moments In Time, Moments In Space

by Ygrain



Series: Connor Shepard [8]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 93
Words: 43,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ygrain/pseuds/Ygrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to On the Other Side. The romance between Connor Shepard and the not-so-crazy-as-before biotic, focusing mainly on the scenes which were not in the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

She's high on booze, and crack, and pinkies, and whatever she can get her hands on fast enough to flood even her superfast biotic metabolism.

She's high on adrenaline and blood, as well, beating and blasting her way through Omega's bars – bars and their denizens both.

Somewhere along the way, she notices a familiar face – or rather, its presence somehow soaks in, through the red haze.

_The scarred fucker. Massani._

_One-eye as good as anyone else._

When she makes her move, though, he just snorts and says he doesn't give pity fucks.

She sends him flying across the bar, or so she wants, but somehow, it doesn't quite go that way, and then everything gets rather chaotic, and painful, and black.

She comes to in a cabin, on a ship, no clothes on but with a mother of headaches as the bastard knocked her out. There is medigel, though, and packs of ice, and some stimulants to make her feel better, and even a change of fresh clothes. She can't be bothered with those; when Massani comes, she lies on the bed as she had been. He'd seen it all and perhaps more, anyway.

"Done with stupid shit?" he asks, folding his arms.

"Where's my stuff?" Jack can't even be bothered to look at him. Her throat is oddly sore, as if swollen.

"Which stuff? The one you left five bars behind?"

_Five bars?_  That prick stings; she must have been more stoned than she thought, to have forgotten all about her gear.

The merc pointedly clears his throat. "Why, you're welcome, Jack."

"Well, I guess you've taken your payment already."

"Not much fond of piss and vomit on a cunt, thank you."

That breaks through. "Nobody asked you to!" she glares at him.

"Because you can take care of yourself, right?"

_Right_. That stings even more. It stings so much that her eyes burn, and well over.

The merc hands her tissues, and ice for the lump on her head, as she sobs inconsolably.

 


	2. Ways of Communication

The omnitool lies on the floor where she smashed it but it doesn't seem damaged.

"Either read it, or do it properly _,"_  Zaeed says, not bothering to take a look at her while manipulating some controls.

"Fuck you," Jack mutters tiredly. She knows that the message is from Shepard, like the other ones before which she deleted without reading.  _He left me. Left me. What else is there to say?_

And the merc is fucking annoying.

' _Where are we going?_ she asked, and he replied just _, 'nowhere in particular, or did you have any plans?'_

No, she didn't, and still doesn't, not a clue. Sure, she could easily pick on what she had been doing before she was caught and sent to the Purgatory – join some gang, perhaps mercs or pirates, do some killing, get some coin, spend it on crack and fun, get some more, more blood…

She doesn't really want to, though. She feels too numb for that.

_He left me. He left me._

She deleted all his messages without reading, and she is sorry for that

Angrily, she jerks her head. She didn't use to be so soft.

"Don't leave the fucking 'tool on the floor. Flush it down the toilet if you ain't gonna read it, but don't leave it around."

Cursing Zaeed again, she  _pulls_  the omnitool to her. She is not so soft so that she couldn't stand the sight of  _his_  fucking name, or is she?

It turns out, the message is  _not_ from Shepard, after all – or perhaps it is, in a way:

_To: Jacqueline Nought_.

_From: The Systems Alliance_ ,  _Admiral Steven Hackett_.


	3. Set Up

The Alliance cruiser is where it was supposed to be, and she paces the small deck, expecting to be blasted down from the sky. Yet, Zaeed seems oblivious to the threat of a trap, and when the contact is made, he jerks his head towards the airlock. "So, what are you waiting for, an invitation?"

Jack plants her hands in her sides. "No, but I've changed my mind. We're leaving."

"We're not, I am. Cut the crap, I have some better job to do."

Then it finally dawns on her. "You got  _paid_  to get me here, you fucker?" She shouldn't be surprised that someone betrayed her yet again, but somehow, she didn't see it coming,  _again –_ "

Unperturbed, the merc crosses his legs. "Sure. I normally don't babysit, you know. But Shepard doubled the offer when I told him."

_Shepard. It all comes down to him, always. That cold blade in my heart._

"You've set me up, you and him? You –"

"If arranging you a clean record, a new identity and a safe hideout with the Alliance is setting you up, then yeah, he did. I'm just a delivery boy here. So, will you go through that fucking door, or do I have to drag you kicking and screaming?"

She goes on her own, of course, and is almost grateful for the line of marines with their guns not  _quite_  trained at her, because sneering at them and showing them a finger distracts her from tears.


	4. Favours

She is seated opposite His Fucking Admiralship Hackett, and neither of them bothers to hide the dislike. Jack is tapping her foot impatiently during his speech, and gives him a sneer once he is over. "And that all just because Shepard asked nicely?"

"He insisted. Even though I warned him that arranging a cover-up for someone like  _you_  might require pulling favours that could be sorely needed for himself."

Suddenly, that cold blue stare wakes a strange feeling in her stomach. "But, they cannot harm him or something, can they? There is no death penalty any –"

"Being extradited to the batarians might as well be one."

For a moment, she cannot breathe. The next thing she knows, she is standing, leaning across the table, scattering the PDAs and the ID card with a sweep of her hand as she yells at the top of her lungs: "Then take those favours back! Do something, don't let them get him! It's fucking your fault, you got him into this shit, you get him out! Fuck your stupid Academy, I can take care of myself, don't let them do that to him!"

Oblivious to her outburst, the old bastard just sits back. "You can calm down, Miss Nought. It won't happen."

 _He was just screwing with me_ , she realizes and wants to tell the fucker to shove it and storm out, but instead, slumps back to the chair, feeling exhausted and dangerously close to tears,  _fucking again_.

"Shepard was actually quite adamant about this. He said he would sleep much better knowing that you are safe. And since, as you have correctly pointed out, it was me who got him into this, I will simply pull  _other_  favours, not to mention that my own influence is not exactly small. It will take time but he will be safe, I can assure you. You can work on your teaching skills meanwhile."

Jack sniffs and has to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. "But – but I don't know a shit about being a fucking teacher…"

The first time since she came aboard, Admiral Steven Hackett smiles a little. "I'm sure that you will be doing fine, provided that you learn to produce at least a single sentence without an F-bomb."


	5. Impressions

" _That's a fucking stupid idea, and a fucking shit of a plan! This will never work!"_

" _Of course it will. A biotic of your strength and skill would never escape the Alliance's attention, you will be_ expected _to have a military history. Working as an undercover agent among pirate gangs will account for your tattoos and… nonconformity… just fine."_

" _I won't be wearing your fucking uniform!"_

" _No-one's offering you one. The army relieved Lieutenant Jacqueline Nought for civilian duty… but do try to wear something less_ fancy,  _please_."

She just snorted and out of the selection of the offered clothes, picked the least bland pieces, but now that the Alliance shuttle has dropped her on the station hosting the famed Grissom Academy, the first time in her life she ponders that she might have put more thought into her choice of wear.

" _Fuck you all,"_  she grits through her teeth as she strides across the hangar to the group awaiting her. Despite the proclamations about the Academy's non-military nature, the blonde woman walking to meet her emanates the airs of someone used to being in charge and her costume bears a suspicious resemblance to a uniform. The quick look that she gives Jack is one that's generally associated with the Alliance fuckers, as well, and her eyes are the same cold blue as Hackett's.

Jack squares her shoulders. The leather pants are not  _as_  tight around her arse as they might have, and the top is not showing tits  _much_ , so she is not going to take any shit – yet, under the woman's scrutinizing eyes, she suddenly feels as if naked.

 _Fuck you_.

Defiantly, Jack reciprocates the look as the woman says: "Pleased to meet you, Miss Nought. I'm Kahlee Sanders, the director of the Grissom Academy. Welcome on board."

Then, suddenly, the blue eyes sparkle with one more glance and the professional mask gives way to a very different expression. "Had I known what the latest issue of Alliance blues looks like, I would have joined. The students will be happy to see someone less conventional."

And Jack cannot but reciprocate the unexpectedly cordial grin, feeling strangely relieved as if she passed some sort of test, though she has no idea what it was.


	6. Acquaintances

"Er… may I…?"

She raises her head abruptly, unused to being addressed during meals. She has picked a table where she could sit with her back to the wall but she never expected anyone to…  _what exactly?_

Baffled by her expression, the young man sports a deep blush. "I, uh, I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Nought, I just meant to ask if I might join you for lunch, as, uh –"

"You wanna – "  _fuck, or what_? she nearly spurts, irritated by his blushing and stammering, but checks herself at the last moment, " – take a seat?"

He grins and flusters even more and Jack nearly rolls her eyes. "What the –" –  _fuck_ "- is your name? – Sorry?" she comes up with something that, hopefully, sounds a bit more teacherly.

"Vincent. Vincent Grafton. Miss Sanders introduced us earlier but I suppose you cannot remember all the names right away –"

No, she cannot, but she does recall his face – rather thin, with big brown eyes, sandy hair and something that aspires to be a moustache. An ordinary face, attached to an unimpressive frame.

_I could rip him in two with my left pinky._

"Hey," she says, hoping it sounds right, "pleased to meet you again."

He takes it as an encouragement. "I teach engineering and a little physics. I specialise in fields and shields and the like."

"Shields? As in, hardsuit shields?"

"Well, not exactly, we didn't have, uh, combat usage here until recently. I deal with static generators but the principle is quite similar –"

She has grasped enough of the  _practical_ use to be able to follow what he is talking about – and he talks with way more self-confidence than before as well as more  _sense_  than she would have imagined. Clearly structured, well-reasoned…

 _Teacher talking_ , it dawns on her. He knows his stuff, and knows how to pass it on. Intrigued, she listens, and it seems that she has made a favourable impression, as well, because when he finally rises, it's with a broad grin.

Somehow, it gives Jack a sense of achievement, and a little  _know how_ for the task ahead _._


	7. Show Me What You Have

They  _stare_. Some even gape, while Sanders bitch introduces her and delivers a little talk on "cooperation" and "effort" and what not.

 _Yeah, yeah, whatever_ , Jack thinks, looking at a girl with olive skin who is exchanging sidelong glances with her neighbour and the corners of their mouths are twitching.  _Just cut the crap, and I'll show those little shites who the boss is –_

\- and then Sanders is leaving, and Jack is suddenly alone with a bunch of fuckers whom she can't kick or punch or rip to shreds, and they are staring at her with expectant eyes –

\- and her mouth is suddenly dry and she is perspiring and there is a lump in her throat and her feet have frozen to the floor and all she can think of is ' _oh, fuck'_.

_\- don't say it don't say it don't say it –_

"Huh… Hey." She has to clear her throat, at a loss how to proceed, and sees  _more_  glances as those fucking kids are getting  _ideas_  while she has none, and all that she has prepared has just evaporated, along with all of her brains, it seems.

 _Show me what you have_. Shepard's voice, from the very first training sessions, in the Normandy's training hall aka the cargo bay.

And so Jack shifts her feet slightly apart, squares her shoulders, raises her head. "So, you're biotics, right? Show me what you have."

 _Still m_ ore glances. Jack plants her hands in her sides. "What?"

"Er… the simulator… ma'am." A girl with jet-black hair and slanted eyes nods towards a console.

Jack feels her face freeze, the sweat accumulating in her armpits.  _Oh. Right. The Simulator. Fuck. Idiot._

_Fuck._

But, there was no simulator on the Normandy, either.

She jots her chin at the girl. "What's your name?"

"Zhang, ma'am. Yan Zhang."

"Fine, Zhang. We're training  _real_  combat here. Show  _me_  what you have, if you can get me."

When the lesson is over, the kids are all panting and sweating while Jack is actually fresher than at its start. "Get your energy drinks and go get a shower. See you tomorrow!"

Before the door closes behind her, she can hear one of the boys utter with a mixture of desperation and awe: "Fuuuuck."


	8. Bottled

Her quarters are small as could be expected on a space station, and she paces across the short of the room only once or twice before she drops on her bed with a groan.

"Fuck," she says aloud, and once again, for a good measure: "Fuck."

It's not like she never assumed another identity, never played a role or had to watch her mouth… but never all three simultaneously. Her head is pounding, she's on the edge, even feeling she might fucking tear up, and she cannot even smash anything.

Hitting her pillow with her fist turns out totally unsatisfactory.

"Why. The. Fuck," she accentuates every word with her fist, "did I ever agree to this?"

The walls are as if closing in on her. She's caught in a small cell, with no escape…

Jack runs her hands over her face. She can leave, the station is resupplied on a fortnightly basis, or she might even rent a ship over the extranet. She is here of her own volition, she can walk away whenever she wishes. She owes them nothing, the Hackett fucker, the Alliance, Shepard…

She can, but should she?

She had been on the run for years, successfully, until she ended up in the Purgatory, and there is no fooling herself: had Warden Kuril not been a greedy bastard, he would have sold her to Cerberus the very moment they showed interest, instead of taking his time to increase the price.

And, this was before Shepard.

Shepard pissed TIM alright – she had EDI replay her the recording of their last exchange, and seeing the fucker lose his cool was definitely hilarious – but she cannot hope that her involvement with Shepard remained unnoticed.

Fuck you. Fuck you. "Fuck you, Shepard!" she growls, knowing all too well that Cerberus will be after her even more than before, to settle the score with the fucking boyscout who –

With an inarticulate scream, she springs from the bed. "Fuck you all!" she yells at the top of her lungs, unable to hold it inside any longer.

The chiming of the door terminal startles her.

Sanders. Fuck. Did she hear?

The woman is smiling her usual way. "I just thought to drop in and check if everything is alright."

"I'm f-fine!" Jack snaps. "I – I am fine, uh, thanks, Miss Sanders," she forces a smile, as well.

Again that quick blue sparkle. "Please, call me Kahlee. And, don't be shy to ask if there is something I can help with, the teaching beginnings can be quite overwhelming. – Though, I'm afraid that arranging an entirely sound-proof door might be a bit of a problem."


	9. Intermezzo Interrogated

The handcuffs are too tight, per some fucker's courtesy, and the lamp unnecessarily close, like in some stupid vid. Shepard is  _almost_ sure that this is for the sake of the batarians who definitely receive the recordings of  _some_  of his interrogations, but apparently, his fellow humans are pissed with him, as well.

"Kasumi Goto." The interrogator's voice is getting icy with every name and Shepard cannot quite decide whether this is an act or not.

"Left the  _Normandy_  on Omega. Didn't specify any of her plans and didn't leave a contact," Shepard says helpfully, for an umpteenth time.

"You are not being very helpful, Mr Shepard!"

Hearing his name without the rank is a prick that has been used too many times to touch a nerve. "It is your decision to waste your time with questions that I have already answered best I can."

The look he receives is almost murderous and he is  _almost_  sure that this must be an act, no-one would send such a moron to interrogate an N7.

"The person going by the moniker 'Jack'. Already charged with terrorism and damaging a space body. You are  _sure_  that you have no idea of her whereabouts, Mr Shepard?"

 _Always stick to the truth and avoid the question_. He ignores the insinuation and reciprocates the gaze without flinching. "We parted on Omega on not exactly good terms. She didn't confide any of her plans to me, nor has she contacted me ever since."

"Are you  _sure_  you have no idea what she is doing now?"

"I am  _quite_  sure that whatever she might be doing, she is doing with all her usual vigour."

"For one who is proclaiming loyalty to the Alliance, you seem suspiciously admiring of the criminal!"

"She is the strongest human biotic I've ever met. I'm sure that your records include this information."

A sneer that is probably supposed to be victorious. "I hope you are not going to claim then that your interest in the said delinquent is  _purely_  professional?"

Schooling his features into an expression of mild surprise, Shepard doesn't allow himself to think of Jack's eyes, her smiles and kisses. "Well, I am a heterosexual male and I spent months putting my life at stake. Naturally, I was aware of the female members of the team and crew, especially if they were less clothed than the standard. However, as you can easily see from my service record, such observations never affected my professional performance."

_Stick to the truth, avoid the question._

Shepard hopes that this is all an act, or else they might send someone more expert the next time, and he'd have to try harder to avoid lying while keeping the thoughts of Jack at bay.


	10. Roundabout

"Those kids are totally out of shape! They wouldn't last ten seconds in a real combat situation!"

Pacing across Sanders' office, the woman's composed posture only fuels Jack's frustration, together with a persistent reminder of Shepard's conduct during her fits.

"They're not supposed to engage in real combat any time soon," Sanders says calmly. "They're still kids, barely of age, after all."

"As if Reapers give a sh  _–_ "

–  _a fuck –_

"– a chance of mercy or something! They don't care if these are kids or not, they kill everything and everyone that gets in the way!"

"So I am told." Sanders finally rises from her chair. "I didn't say that I disagree."

At a loss, Jack pauses in midstep. Unperturbed, Sanders continues. "While funded by the Alliance, this is not a military facility. This is a school… so that's why the students have lessons of physical education instead of combat training."

"Aaaargh!" Diving into a soft armchair, Jack slams her palm at her forehead. "So why am I here? What am I supposed to do with those kids? They're weak, they're not used to enduring strain or stress or pain, all they can do is make fancy little pulls and tiny blue spheres and shields that wouldn't stop a fart!"

"There used to be…. a different approach," Sanders says quietly, "right in the beginning, when the first generation of biotics was growing up. A military approach. It… didn't go well. This is why biotic children are sent to the Academy, and begin the combat training only after enlisting. Your class is considered an advanced course, or a sort of prep, for military career, but it is still only a transition, and a very fresh thing. There are political trends which do not like the "militarisation" of this school in the least."

"So why the f- am I here at all?"

Sanders' eyes sparkle and her smile becomes a grin. "Now that you have become acquainted with the routine, it's time to give  _extracurricular_  training."

Slowly, Jack feels her own lips mimic the expression.


	11. Impressed

"Uugh…" Groaning, Weasley drops back to his bed, his arms trembling. "The woman's crazy like a fuck."

The others giggle, even though they are not in the best shape themselves after the lesson – but, unlike Weasley, they weren't caught up lazying for the third time and assigned a double round of push-ups.

Weasley snorts. "Cra-zy," he repeats with conviction but elicits only further sneers and giggles. Frustrated, he buries his face in the pillow. Not only did he embarrass himself by falling on his face, unable to continue, but the crazy bitch dropped down next to him and did the double round herself, hardly breaking a sweat. He hoped that at least Sylvia Nowak might side with him but instead, she is as smitten with the new teacher as Zhang or Prangley.

"She's a total badass," the asslicker Prangley remarks oh-so-predictably and Weasley stifles another groan in the pillow.

"I wonder how she got those scars," says Rodriguez who has sat silent most of the time. "You know, those on her neck. They… don't look like battle scars, do they? More like… I don't know, some surgery…"

"Or she did it herself to look cool," Hu suggests.

"Or got them while she fucked a turian."

"Or a krogan."

"A whole bunch of them!"

"She kicked their ass first and  _then_  she fucked them!"

"To the death!"

Among the laughter and crazy suggestions, Weasley boosts his hurt ego a wee bit. Sylvia is laughing, as well, and he still entertains the thought of hooking up with her, that would definitely make him feel better… provided that his aching arms allow him to perform such an activity. He might even be able to admit that the new teacher does kick ass, as long as the ass is someone else's but his.


	12. Battles, of a Sort

"– and the quarterly expenses, as compared to –"

Jack stifles another yawn. She suppresses an urge to slam her fist into her chair, stomp her feet, roll her eyes or voice her opinion about the shit that is being discussed at staff meetings.

_The issues with some snotty kids' fucking parents? Monthly budgets? An increased consumption of soap? Exam results?_

_Fuck, give me a squad of charging krogan_ any _time._

Jack is quite sure that as she feigns attention, her eyes turn glazed every now and then. Her back is stiff from sitting uncomfortably, and the only thing that she can reasonably distract herself with is planning the tomorrow's lesson. Should they proceed with warps already, or –"

"Yeah?" she startles, realizing that everyone is looking at her and she has no idea what this is about. "Er – excuse me?"

She is aware that some looks are rather cold – her depilated head in combination with her inks and a leather jacket stand out in the room like a bare arse.

"We're discussing your extracurricular classes," Neumann informs her. "As you're not a  _professional_  trainer, there have been  _concerns_."

 _Sure, dickhead. Because unlike you show-off, I have done the real stuff_. "What concerns?"

"That your techniques may not be appropriate for the students' level of physical and mental development."

_Ah, sure. The little Weasley shite has whined._

Jack glances sidelong at Sanders but the woman is a complete deadpan.

 _Nevermind_. Jack is all too happy to fight her own battles, especially with a piece of shit like Neumann, with showy muscles and a cute tattoo of a red dragon on his forearm. Her arrival apparently deposed the teacher of physical education from his post of an attractive rebel, and he doesn't put up well with competition.

"The techniques considered appropriate for their level haven't prepared them for running ten rounds without getting totally winded," she says sweetly. "I'm sure the batarians will wait for them to catch their breath any time."

Neumann turns red, Vincent quickly puts his hand to his mouth, coughing, and Siri Momoe in her immaculate costume sneers openly. A maths professor, she has a sharp mind and her tongue outsharps even Jack's, minus the vocabulary, and she cannot stand posers. Sanders' eyes sparkle but she doesn't bat a lash and moves to the next point. Only when the meeting is over, she gives Jack a look and a nod, and Jack knows that she did well.


	13. Commitment

" _Don't hold back! Give it all you have! Show me a nice strong warp! Beat the f-fancy boys!"_

The sounds of detonations.

" _You there, Bellarmine! Try harder!"_

" _But I'm doing my best, ma'am!"_

" _Not you, Seanne, your brother over there! You do that in a real fight, Reiley, your candy ass gets handed over! Understood?"_

" _Yes, ma'am!"_

" _Now, all of you! A barrier for thirty seconds, then on my mark, shock them with all you have!"_

Jack's countdown on the background of strained breathing, and then a concentrated biotic blast causes the loudspeakers to clunk. The clunk is followed by loud cheering _. "We destroyed them! Psychotic biotics! Yeah!"_

" _You beat them alright but you panted like krogans in- uh – "._ Cough _. "And, Prangley, that barrier was weak! That last round almost got through, and these are just puffy soft balls! You wouldn't be such a cutie any more if some real stuff smacked you!"_

Several girls giggle, and Kahlee feels her corners turn up. Poor Jason has probably turned all red to match his hair, and his  _"Yes, ma'am"_  lacks the usual enthusiasm.

Turning down the volume, Kahlee sits back to watch the students forming pairs for the next exercise while Jack, her eyes shining, goes from pair to pair to administer praise and tongue lashing in equal measure.

_They are eating from her hand._

Despite all her initial misgivings, Kahlee has to admit that the risky choice of the new biotic teacher has turned out to be exactly what the students needed to become fully committed to the training.

That's what full commitment usually inspires, after all.


	14. Never Written, Never Sent

_Dear Garrus,_

_care to join me on my forced holiday? The accommodation is not big but the two of us could squeeze in and there is a wonderful broad view if you want to train some sniping. I just hope you won't mind sharing a bunk with a dangerous psycho who freaks out next to any tech..._

"- and as we all know, post-traumatic stress disorder seriously affects the cognitive functions, often leading to the development of psychosis and paranoia. Commander Shepard's exposure to further traumatizing events featuring a technologically advanced enemy instilled a deep-rooted fear of technology leading to the delusion of a synthetic super-enemy, the so-called 'Reapers', which have become the embodiment of the Commander's fear that must be fought at all costs, hence inhibiting his moral constraints and empathy -"

As the psychological mumbo jumbo goes on and on, Shepard lets his attention stray again.

_Dear Samara,_

_I cannot even distantly express how thankful I am for your lessons of meditations, because without them, I'd be cray-cray in a fortnight even more than they claim I am. I wonder what your justicar codes might say about being put through such crap. I might even actually -_

He checks himself. No, actually he doesn't feel any better about the terrorism charges. Ashley never looked into his eyes as she was relaying their encounter on Horizon, ' _in the presence of Cerberus operatives'_. He could only be grateful that she presented just facts, not any conclusions that she had jumped to.

"- historical examples of delusions that reached the magnitude which became dangerous for the society have repeatedly been associated with -"

_Yeah. Whatever._

_Dear Kasumi,_

_heard this one? A Reaper, a Cerberus guy and a psychiatrist walk into a bar ..._

Through the sessions and hearings, the fun letters that he is never going to write are a good distraction. At nights, when he lies awake, there are others circling in his mind that he will never confide to writing.

_Dear mom,_

_I'm so sorry that I'm putting you through this all..._

But in his mind, his mother's grey eyes never waver, just like never has her support and love, and he wishes to talk to her merely to calm and vent his fears, to have  _someone_  who trusts in him unconditionally, at least for once. It's the other letters that lie heavy on his conscience, ones that he did write, and he had EDI remove every single track that they ever existed before he turned himself in. At nights, he recreates every single line etched in his memory, in endless variations.

_I'm an ass. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you, Jack, and I miss you._


	15. Hers

The kids look at her, so naïve, so trusting… so stupid, a part of her wants to yell, but she can't, even though she knows that they have stupid ideas and stupid preconceptions about her inks, her scars… about herself.

Stupid, stupid ideas about who she is, what she is, what she has done.

Stupid, stupid kids, even though some of them are legally of age already. Kids who have never killed, never even seen blood, theirs or somebody else's.

A part of her wants to scream at them, to shake them, to get some sense into those stupid heads of theirs… to beat them bloody, to get them on their knees, to kick them into dust, to teach them that lesson that had been beaten into her, over and over, till nothing remained.

Seeing their eyes, she knows she won't.

Seeing their eyes, she sees her own, after she escaped from Pragia, confused by the big unknown world, so different from all that she had known. Over and over, she kept misplacing her trust, each failure driving her deeper and deeper into hurt, and she knows that she cannot do to them what had been done to her.

Never, ever, can she do that to them. To those stupid, naïve kids.

When she finally realizes how much she has come to care, it throws her off balance for a couple of days, with all her instincts yelling against her stupidity, and she kicks her bed and curses Shepard because it is all his fault, it was on the Normandy that she started to care again…

… and it was on the Normandy that she started to feel whole.

She kicks the bed again and then squares her shoulders. So she cares. That's because the kids also care, in their own stupid way.

Her kids, in a way. Hers.


	16. Growing

She enters the shower without a thought of a possible attack, and that is so weird that she takes a pause before using the shower gel. She shouldn't lose her edge, no matter how good it feels to be  _safe_ , to exchange smiles with people who will never, ever, have a reason to turn on her.

People who never, ever, held a gun, who don't move with a killer's grace, who don't possess brutish strength, who won't try to grab her…

It's weird to think so, unnatural, when always, always, feeling safe turned out yet another big fat lie.

Always, except the  _Normandy_.

_The Normandy…_

In the shower, Jack turns her face towards the streamlets, lets the water blind her for a moment the way she normally never does, and lets it wash away the memories of the Purgatory.

 _Shepard. Shepard made it happen_.

Cerberus might have arranged her release for their own purposes but Shepard made it happen, and Shepard made it happen that the Cerberus crew didn't turn on her and eventually defected from the Illusive Man.

 _Shepard_.

She lets the water run over her face a long time.

When she's done washing, she doesn't apply the depilating lotion.

In a couple of days, her head is covered with soft brown fluff and every now and then, she catches herself touching it curiously, and lovingly. When it starts to obscure the ink, she depilates the strips from her temples but lets the rest grow.

"A new hairstyle?" Siri asks. "It becomes you," and Vincent nods, blushing slightly.

"Yeah, a hairstyle, eventually," she replies. The hair is too short to grab but she fully intends to let it grow longer. Much longer.


	17. Always On My Mind

In her free time, she studies a lot, and reads, but the evenings she spends in the gym: she has too much time on her hands, too much thinking, too little action to distract her. Working out late helps her fall asleep, as well, even though it uncomfortably reminds her of Shepard. Back on the  _Normandy_ , it never occurred to her that his habit of working out late may not be just due to his full schedule.

Sometimes, when she cannot fall asleep even despite the exertion, she wonders how little she actually knew the man, or if she ever knew him at all.

The old wound still hurts, though at times, she almost comes to realize that she should have expected him to turn himself in – it was so stupid that it was definitely a Shepard thing to do.

Sometimes, she thinks she understands him. Sometimes, she wishes to have him close, to touch him, to be held. Sometimes, she wishes to punch him once more.

Each time, she ends up in the gym again, and adds the weights or runs faster to get him out of her mind – yet, as she brushes away her sweated hair, she briefly wonders if he would like it and what it would feel like if it was  _his_  fingers running through the strands.

When she retreats from such thoughts to the shower, she is reminded of the sex they had in his shower on the  _Normandy_ , and punches the wall, and when she lies in bed, wide awake until she gives in and releases her frustration, it is his touch and his hands that her fancy always eventually turns to.

_Shepard._

No use fooling herself.  _Shepard._


	18. Same Old, Same New

Setting the window for transparent, Shepard stares at the bright lights of night Vancouver, wondering how much time remains before the skies open to wreak destruction. He can still see the Sovereign' monstrous shape blotting the sky, the bodies twitching on the dragon teeth. He can hear the cold machine voice of the Harbinger and feel that button under his finger that doomed the system of Aratoht.

Closing his eyes, he slowly massages his temples: his palms are slick with sweat. The memories of the Cipher are still clear in his mind, and he knows that whatever he has experienced, compared to the annihilation of the Protheans, it is nothing.

The high-rise buildings of Vancouver, with all their lights and shiny glass panes, will become deathtraps for all those inside and around; the whole city will – the distances of a few minutes will suddenly become insurmountable as the transport system will collapse, and so will water and energy supplies. Chaos and death will follow on an unimaginable scale.

He pours himself a glass of water to relieve his throat.

The incarceration is taking its toll: the constraint, the lack of physical activity, the constant self-control of his waking hours result in all sorts of dreams plaguing his sleep. They are rarely pleasant, and even these are unwelcome as waking up only makes his current situation and helplessness even more acute. Some are  _too_  pleasant, leaving embarrassing marks, and he just hopes that he doesn't talk aloud from his sleep as he definitely doesn't feel like explaining why he keeps having erotic dreams about an infamous criminal.

Mostly, he has nightmares, both old and new. He is thirsting again under the blazing sun of Akuze while the ground rumbles with the death approaching; he hears the screams among desperate gunshots and loses them all, one by one. He sees Kaidan, turning and waving one last time as he walks towards his death with the salarian commando, in the blinding white light consuming the Virmire facility. Ashley's lips twist in mistrust and accusations among the emptied houses of Horizon, and the colonists' bodies are dissolving while the huge metallic skeleton rises from the abyss and Thane runs towards swarming Collectors to meet the blaze tearing up the station.

In a way, the old ones are perhaps better than the newest additions.

"Fuck," he mutters, knowing he won't be able to fall asleep for hours, and presses his hands to his eyes, to erase the image of Jack, tied to a Cerberus lab desk and being slowly dissected, screaming his name.


	19. Of Tea And Poetry

When everything else fails, booze is her last relief – if she downs a bottle real fast and drops to bed, she can relax enough to fall asleep before her metabolism gets rid of the alcohol.

She does that three or four times, though, and on her return from the boozemachine ("use restricted strictly to personnel"), she finds Sanders waiting in her quarters. "Is that wise?" she says softly.

Jack frowns: as far as she knows, she hasn't crossed any line, and the intrusion pisses her off. "Are you spying on me or what?"

"I'm keeping an eye on all my staff," Sanders replies. "And if they need to sneak out at night for a bottle, it's something I need to address."

"Like hell," Jack growls. "No-one said I can't have booze in my free time, and the rest is no fucking business of yours. Plus, in case it escaped you, I'm a  _biotic_ , it would take more than this piss to get me drunk."

A pointed look. "I know what you are and who you are."

Jack draws breath through her nostrils, feeling a surge of adrenaline. "If you have issues with me, why bother taking me on board in the first place?"

"A friend asked me to." Sanders doesn't flinch, she never does. "At first I thought he must have got hit in the head but as I've been watching your interaction with the students, I must admit he was right, after all. But if you're having issues that you need a bottle to cope with, I cannot overlook it, both for your own sake and for theirs."

_Theirs. The kids'._

Slowly, Jack relaxes her tense posture. She drops her eyes to the bottle in her hand. "I can't sleep," she admits, "and I don't want no pills or doctors, 'is all. Usually, working out helps, but not today."

Sanders tilts her head. "Have you tried warm milk? Or tea? I've got a good blend in my quarters. Shall I fix you a cup? I even have a stash of honey."

"Is this an overture to 'let's talk about your problems'?" Jack blurts. "'Cause I'm not –"

"No. Not unless you want to." Sanders smoothly rises from the chair. "I'll be right back."

In the morning, Jack finds a packet of tea and a small jar of honey on her desk. It catches her by surprise; she can't recall being ever gifted anything so… harmless.

As she picks up the packet to smell its fragrance, she notices the PDA under it:

_\- Ten hours' recording of hanar visual poetry. Either you will relax, or it will safely bore you to sleep. Win-win._

_K._


	20. Ghosts

The man just stares at her, without a word.

 _He's mental_ , Jack reminds herself, only he doesn't look quite so now, except that he stares. She didn't even recognize him at first; in fact, she almost entirely forgot about him, and now she tries to think hard whether he might know who she is. He never really saw her, after all, except the moment when she hung around as Shepard and Taylor were removing the restraints and tubes and wires that kept him attached to the VI interface.

Yet, the look is unnerving:  _what if he does remember?_

Vincent turns up at her elbow. "This is David Archer. He is… very good at maths. He does great work at extrapolating the shield models. – David, have you met Miss Jacqueline Nought? She trains the advanced biotic students."

Still the stare.

Vincent shoots her an apologetic glance.

"Hello, David," Jack forces out of her tightened throat, and Vincent takes Archer gently by the arm to shoo him back to his console.

The man does not move. "The square root of 36."

Jack blinks. "6," she replies, and he smiles, so gently, and returns to his computations.

"He's autistic," Vincent explains in a lowered voice. "He's a mathematic genius, but his social skills… He hardly ever leaves the lab. You handled it well, though. He likes you. – Now, I'd like to show you that prototype I told you about the other day…"

Nodding, Jack follows him through the laboratories but barely listens, her mind full of the image of the nude man and tears constantly spilling from his eyes propped open – as if her own share of nightmares wasn't enough.

And only then it dawns on her that even though her sleep is still plagued, the thoughts of Cerberus that used to haunt her night and day have receded.

Shaking her head, she realizes that Vincent has asked her something. "Er, sorry?"

He is looking at her with those big brown eyes of his. "I was asking if you are alright. You seem… outside yourself."

"No, it's alright," she replies automatically, and only then the thought fully forms.

 _Not outside myself,_ becoming _myself. My. Self._   _Whatever that may mean._

All she knows is that the girl from the Cerberus holding cell has somehow, somewhat, faded out, and is not controlling her life any more.


	21. Talkie-Talkie

It takes several feedback sessions before Jack musters her courage to ask Kahlee leisurely, once they are done talking the students: "So... if I may ask..."

"Yes?"

"You and Shepard... how did you two meet?"

The woman blinks, once. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the Commander."

Jack eyes her from head to toe: the blonde mane, the pretty face, the slim figure, the sparkling eyes, nothing showing her age. "You haven't?"

"No. Why – ah, I see. When I said that a friend had asked me, I meant David Anderson. You know Anderson?"

"Uh, not in person. Shepard – Shepard mentioned him a couple of times." More than a couple, in fact. Jack never saw the man in person as she always stayed on board those few times when the Normandy docked on the Citadel. Anderson. Shepard's CO, mentor, friend... and the Councillor.  _Soooo..._

Embarrassed how relieved she feels, Jack nearly overlooks the obvious.

Seeing her frown and narrow her eyes, Kahlee produces a small smile – a bit warded, and a little bit mischievous. She taps her fingers on her table. "Me and David go back a long time. We sort of bumped into each other when he was being tested as a Spectre candidate, and never really let go, I suppose. - Never really pursued anything much, either," she ends on a somewhat pensive note, looking past Jack for a moment, but as her eyes focus again, she raises her brows and tilts her head. "Did you?"

_Did what? Pursue? Let go?_

Jack's throat tightens.

The mischief is gone in an instant, replaced with concern as Kahlee leans forward. "I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have pried. Sorry."

Jack nods stiffly, unsure of her voice, and angry with both Sanders and herself, for giving away so much of...  _what?_  Sanders knows, or has figured out, anyway. "What did Anderson tell you about me?" she asks bluntly.

"He gave me your dossier – your past and your psychological profile, and said that you deserve a chance, that you have earned it and that a trustworthy friends has vouched for you."

The implication is obvious and Jack doesn't bother to confirm it.

"Jack."

Startled, she looks up, and Kahlee looks straight in her eye. "I understand why he didn't tell me, and that this is strictly confidential. If the media got wind of this..." She shakes her head, disgusted, but then her eyes sparkle briefly. "Though I'm not going to pretend that I'm not curious."

To her surprise, Jack finds herself reciprocating the smile. "You wouldn't believe."

A raised brow. "I might surprise you."

For a while, they grin at each other just like some teenage students.

Light chatting about one's love life turns out an unexpectedly pleasant experience.


	22. Your Own Fault

With an apologetic look, Vega removes the handcuffs as they enter and leaves.

"Sorry for the 'cuffs, Shepard. I didn't want anyone to think that this is anything else but the usual show for the sake of the batarian audience."

Shepard pointedly rubs his wrists one more time and takes a chair opposite Hackett. "What's the situation?" he asks, not bothering with niceties or assurances if it's safe to talk, the admiral wouldn't have blown the cover if it wasn't.

A second's hesitation tells him that he won't like the answer.

"Not particularly good, I'm afraid. I haven't been able to gather as much support as I had hoped for. Except the unwillingness to believe our conclusions, there seem to be some... undercurrents. Someone's working against us."

"Do you think that the people in the key positions could have been indoctrinated? The government itself?"

"How do I tell? All I can see is that some of the strings attached to the political puppets are pulling in weird ways."

"What about the Council?"

Hackett shakes his head. "Still in denial. No help out of there, and Anderson won't hold his post much longer, anyway." Seeing Shepard's startled look, he explains: "Nothing catastrophic. You know that he is not a political animal, and if we can't get through with the politics, he will be of better use in the military. Together we will be able to do more. We are just waiting for a convenient occasion."

"I could be of better use out there, as well."

"Impossible, Shepard, and you know it. If we release you, we have an armed conflict on our hands in no time, and we can't afford it right now. We need to drag this, gain more time."

The helplessness is choking him. "Do you prefer me a terrorist, or insane?"

"I'd prefer you ready any time. I know this is hard on you..." A sidelong glance. "Perhaps I might cheer you up at least a bit. Your...  _protégée_... is doing fine. Much better than I would have believed possible."

Shepard doesn't know what it is that shows in his face but Hackett quirks a brow. "I'm not going to question your choice, Commander... but I hope you do realize that it might give you more trouble than the whole Aratoht shitstorm, and this time it's all just your own doing. I'm  _not_  getting you out of  _this_  one."

"I can handle," Shepard says somewhat stiffly, and grits his teeth at Hackett's unconcealed amusement, and an eyebrow raised in a lack of conviction but he really has only himself to blame. When he made that particular call to Hackett, his nose was still swollen from the previous attempt at handling, after all.


	23. Wraiths

_The guy doesn't belong_.

He poises as some serviceman but Jack is not taken in. He has caught her eye before, what with his smooth movements and finely toned musculature visible even in his loose overall, but the day she sees his lightning-fast reflexes as he catches a screwdriver before it hits the floor, the realization dawns on her like punch to the gut.

Raven-black hair pulled in a ponytail, slanted black eyes that give away nothing, and miss nothing, either. On a station full of civilians, he might just as well put a neon sign "killer" on his forehead, and Jack knows that he would rip through the security as easily as herself.

_Who is he? When did he come here? And why?_

The very moment the guy realizes that the malfunction of a heating unit in the maintenance area is due to a clip stuck in the circuits, Jack  _pulls_. Slamming him into a wall for a good measure – the fucker is fast, she was ready for him but still nearly missed – she holds him pinned a meter above the floor. "I'll ask you just once. Who. Are. You?"

"Put me down, Miss Nought. I -"

 _Slam._ "Not what I asked."

"My name is Amrun Simrawi. Place a call -"

 _Slam_. "Who are you working for, fucker? Who sent you here?"

The guy half-sighs, half-gasps as the biotic field presses his ribcage. " _Lieutenant_  Simrawi. Miss Sanders knows -"

"You think I'm stupid?" Jack snarls, but the doubt has already set in.  _Fuck_. Keeping Simrawi pinned, she activates her 'tool and contacts Kahlee. "This Simrawi type... who is he? What is he doing here?"

A slight hesitation.  _"No worries, Jack, he's alright. Why do you ask?"_

" _Who the fuck is he_?"

A longer pause, and Kahlee's voice sounds considerably harder. " _I'm telling you he is alright. He's with the Alliance. You haven't hurt him, I hope?"_

"Not yet," she snaps. " _Who_  sent him?"

" _Where are you? I'll be there instantly."_

"No need to, Miss Sanders," the man gasps, his face purplish. "We'll settle this between ourselves."

" _If you're sure of this, Lieutenant... try not to blow the station in the process. And wipe the blood off the floor afterwards."_ The 'tool goes silent.

Cursing, Jack releases the field. She must give it to the man, he doesn't spread on the floor, only staggers and leans against the wall with a sigh of relief.

Jack plants her hands in her sides, trembling with fury. "So? They thought you could take me out if I don't behave, fucker?"

The man, Simrawi, holds her eyes. "That option  _was_  mentioned in passing, but the main objective is to  _prevent_  people from taking you out. I hear you've pissed quite a few."

She cannot help but blink. " _Who_  sent you?"

"Admiral Anderson."

 _Shepard_. She doesn't know what to say.

Simrawi grins at her, a bit sourly as he feels his nape. "You should enlist for the N-training. There aren't many people who can catch me like that." He reaches his hand towards her. "Eh, how about a second -"

Jack doesn't let him finish,  _slamming_  him into the wall again with a single flip of her wrist. "Just keep off my way, you and your admiral both. I'm not buddy-buddying with the likes of you!"

 _Except Shepard_ , a tiny voice nags as she storms off, and Shepard is lucky not to be there that very moment.


	24. The Right One

"Hey," Jack replies to the greeting and wonders why it seems as if Rodriguez was waiting before Jack's quarters.

Turns out, she's not wrong. While the girl blushes and stammers, Jack takes care not to roll her eyes. As a biotic, Rodriguez is impressive enough; as a future soldier, Jack has serious doubts. Rodriguez is too soft, too indecisive, and prone to panicking. Even now she is almost losing her nerve. "I – er – I – ma'am... I wonder if I might...  _talk_  to you."

_Huh?_

Jak feels her brows rise to her hairline while her jaw follows the opposite direction, and Rodriguez turns an even deeper red. "I, I'm sorry-"

"That's alright, come on in." Jack opens the door because talking nonsense inside is definitely better. "Take a seat," she offers, remembering the routine from the other people's offices. "So, what is it?"

The answer renders her speechless once more but curiously, her confusion helps Rodriguez to pull herself together. "The other teachers, they are, you know, so  _teacherly_. So adult. Even those who are really nice, like Miss Sanders, they're so... I don't think they would understand. Or, they probably would, but in their own way. It's sort of... as if I knew ahead what they would say, and I know that they would mean well, but it's like we're worlds apart. I can't... connect to them."

 _And what can_ I _tell you? Top ten ways to kill? How to screw with someone before they screw with you?_

"Look... Ela," Jack says, fumbling for words that would resemble something that Kahlee might say, but then takes a pause:  _she came to me because she did_ not _want Kahlee._ On an impulse, she takes Rodriguez by the hand, feeling the smooth, unscarred skin. "I'm probably the worst person to ask. Most of my life, I just fought for survival." Seeing the girl's eyes go wide, she swallows the revenge part. "I sure didn't think much about my purpose and the like. The one time I did..."

That one time in the order when she got all her answers and felt so happy and content until she found out that it all was yet another big fat lie, and screwed with them just fine as they -

Rodriguez' eyes are like saucers and Jack quickly releases the grip of her hand emanating blue sheen. "Sorry," she grins to ease the tension. "'Been never good at self-control. What I meant was that the one time I focused hard on looking for a purpose, it eluded me because I fell for big words and fake feelings. I actually found one only long after I stopped looking. So, all I can say is, no use feeling bad about not having one, you know?"

She keeps holding the girl's hand, and after a moment, Rodriguez adds her other hand to the grip, her fingers skimming over the tattos and scars. As if drawing strength from the touch, she smiles, finally without any nervousness.

After the girl is gone, Jack takes long to make up her mind but in the end, she does place a call with Kahlee. The answer has her grit her teeth and rush to the gym to vent some adrenaline.

_Placed in the Academy immediately after she showed biotic abilities at the age of six, and has had no contact with her family ever since. Suffering from abandonment issues as a consequence._

The maintenance fixes the ripped punching bag without questions.


	25. Wish You A Merry Christmas

She's baffling – absolutely unlike any other woman Vincent has met, and he can't figure her out. She is a tough military professional, yet he can't really imagine her wearing a uniform; she's strong and self-confident, yet there are moments when she seems clueless, almost like a child… and the next moment she handles her students with ease and natural authority. She is jaded, even cynical, but when she entered the dining hall, decorated for the Christmas party, she paused with such a weird look…

Baffling. Vincent tries to imagine her as a child, to picture her when she was six, or sixteen, but without success; he is unable to erase her tattoos and scars.

He wonders what sort of childhood she had – he even made the mistake, once, to ask, and immediately knew he had overstepped, and never dared again.

Even now he doesn't dare: half-hidden behind the huge artificial Christmas tree, all silver and gold, electric candles and chains and stars, he watches while the others are dancing, everyone: the students, the staff… Jack.

Watching her dance, he doesn't hear the generic dancing tune but another one, a haunting old melody he learned during the course of Biblical studies which he picked out of despair, after Susan left him.

_Tender and treacherous_

_Timid and dangerous_

_Flame and the red of dawn_

_Angel and devil's pawn_

_Sugar and salt._

Jack dances, her eyes shining, her lips red like Salome's. Her lips...

When the party is over, everyone is hugging and kissing and wishing 'Merry Christmas', and when his turn comes, he wants more than a peck on the cheek. His hands hold on a moment too long, bolder for all the whisky that he has drunk, and he knows that he has overstepped again. Helplessly, he waits for yet another 'just friends' look, but then Jack kisses him on the mouth, thoroughly, and hugs him tight. "Merry Christmas, Vincent, and thanks for everything."

"Merry Christmas, Jack," he replies automatically as she pulls away and leaves, walking with that feline grace. All the Christmas glamour seems suddenly dulled. His head is spinning and the next thing he knows, he is very, very sick, behind the Christmas tree, and Siri is supporting him and manoeuvring him away, muttering something. Her voice is surprisingly gentle but all he hears is the  _Salome_  song:

_Tempting in candlelight_

_For the king's sole delight_

_Salome's dancing_

The whisky spills into his eyes because he knows that the king is  _another_  and he doesn't stand a chance, yet again.

Comes the morning with the inevitable retribution, he wishes that someone cut off his head just like the Baptist's, for her.

* * *

**Salome**  (translation mine, original text by Karel Kryl)

Tender and treacherous  
timid and dangerous  
flame and the red of dawn  
angel and devil's pawn  
sugar and salt

Scent of cloves filled the air,  
she danced with flowing hair,  
the king watched, enchanted,  
to revenge consented,  
a price so small

Salome  
under the waning moon  
Salome  
swaying like reed to tune  
tempting in candlelight  
for the king's sole delight  
Salome's dancing

Salome  
the Baptist died on your word  
Salome  
your smile the king's heart stirred  
spinning and whirling round  
your lips red like a wound  
glisten with blood spilled

Night sky is reddening  
satisfied is the king  
making use of the feat,  
my realm will benefit  
and fear no fate

Knowing the ancient truth  
he pondered without rue  
'when writing history  
don't weep for heads gory  
on silver plate'

Salome  
no use in dancing on  
Salome  
you remained all alone  
red wine in last droplets  
drying in jewelled goblets  
lures night moth swarming

Salome  
Your blushing cheeks went pale,  
Salome  
You're concealed in your veil  
Hiding from every stare  
No-one can see you there  
Salome's crying


	26. Good Boys, Good Girls

"Vincent is a good boy," Siri remarks over the coffee; doctor Frobisher echoes while leaving the gym and Kahlee oozes from every pore while not saying a word. Vincent himself apologizes profoundly, and repeatedly, blushing and stammering just like the first time he ever talked to her.

And Jack is fuming, inside.  _Fuck, I know, you know?_

_Fuck._

_That's what he wants, right?_

_That's what every man always wants, right? Every man. Even Shepard..._

_He didn't make the move, though. I did. Both times. He..._

_Vincent..._

His hands, sweaty, holding too tight, the smell of whiskey on his breath, his lips, pressing.

_Vincent. A friend. A good boy._

Soft brown eyes, intelligent but soft. Puppy eyes, as he was apologising. Hurt eyes, even though Jack assured him that she didn't held a thing against him. And hopeful, in a desperate way.

_The fuck am I supposed to do now? 'Just friends' though we both know that's no longer true? Or give him a prize fuck just because he is a good boy and deserves one? Or two or three, if I like it?_

Pacing across her quarters, Jack is softly cursing, kicking her bed every now and then. She likes Vincent alright, she does, but she doesn't want to fuck him, not really. She could, of course, it's just that she doesn't feel particularly compelled to, beyond the mere fact that she hasn't had a fuck for ages and definitely could use some. In this respect, Vincent would do. He might even be happier for that.

_A good boy._

Jack stops in the middle of the room, biting her lip.

 _He_  would _be happy if he got the fuck he wants, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he?_

A thought she'd never thought before drives her teeth so deep that they nearly draw blood. W _hat happens next?_

Those soft, brown, adoring eyes.

_Let's say we do... have sex. What happens if he thinks that there is more to it? If he thinks -_

_'I want_ you _, not a fuck.'_

"Screw you, Shepard!" she yells at the top of her lungs, not giving two shits who may overhear. Her corona flares, the chair hits the wall. " _Screw you!"_

Panting, she leans against her thighs.

_Vincent is a good boy. He doesn't deserve..._

After that, she slumps on her bed, tears softly flowing as the old wound reopened, but deep inside she knows that while she doesn't absolve Shepard of anything,  _she_  made the move.


	27. Tastes

His hands are still sticky with the boy's blood and the bastard Leng is gone but as he watches Kahlee spread calmness and order into the chaos of the station buzzing like an upturned hive, Anderson feels almost serene. He waits, aside from the tumult of the various Academy staff demanding instructions, for that moment when Kahlee will finally turn to him, with that quick small smile of hers, and enclose him in an island of calm, for just the two of them.

The staff room is slowly emptying, the chief of the security huffs away and the station doctor, a soft-spoken blonde, starts fussing over Kahlee's splinted fingers. An elderly lady, perched in the corner, never says a thing but her beady eyes glance from Kahlee to Anderson in a rather tale-telling manner. Keeping his poker-face, Anderson pretends not to notice and instead turns his attention to the last two people remaining in the room.

As it happens, he is familiar with both of them.

Lieutenant Simrawi, a prospective N7, and a slender woman with graceful movements and extensive tattoos.

Shepard's girlfriend.

Seeing her photo in her dossier, Anderson couldn't grasp what got into Shepard - sure, the girl was pretty enough, in an extravagant way, though definitely not Anderson's type. Seeing her now, he is still puzzled, though he better understands Hackett's quizzical remark, delivered with that annoying I-know-more-than-I-am-telling smirk: 'She could easily be charming. She is such a spirited young, uh, un-lady.'

To his surprise, he finds himself a target of her dark glances and he briefly wonders what her beef with him might be until he notices that Simrawi is getting his share, as well. The way the Lieutenant's face freezes in response to an enquiring look only confirms the suspicion.

Leisurely, Anderson moves across the room. "I thought I made perfectly clear that you were not to reveal your identity, Lieutenant," he mutters in a tone that always works.

"It was either that or break his neck," hisses a voice, and when Anderson turns round, he finds himself face to face with the most fearsome human biotic ever. "What made you think I need a fucking babysitter, and a stupid one on top of that?"

Simrawi's expression turns even more stony, despite the violent blush, and Anderson realizes that this is probably not the first time the man is getting the flak.

"So?" Her hands planted in her sides, Jacqueline Nought demands an answer. "Did a krogan tore out your tongue for an appetizer? Was this bright idea yours, or - his?"

"Mine," he replies, "But I promised to do my best to keep you safe."

The expression in her eyes changes but the slightest bit before she delivers a profound talk on all the useless Alliance fuckers but Anderson doesn't really listen. That change as well as the tiny waver before she dropped the name tells him all and he finally understands what it was that swept Shepard off his feet.


	28. Military Men

The reporter ravels in the news, and Jack feel her stomach tie in a knot, until the screen suddenly deactivates.

"Bullshit," Kahlee assesses calmly, lowering her 'tool. "Don't let that upset you, dear. Reporters are like that, always have, always will."

"I'm not upset," she denies angrily.

An unconvinced glance. "The fuss is just to butter up the batarians who still want his hide. It's annoying, and lengthy, but when it's over, he'll come back to you."

Jack snorts. "If I let him," she mutters more or less for herself, but when she gets yet another such glance, the frustration finally outs. "He  _left_  me, and what for?!" As she jerks her hand towards the dark screen, her aura momentarily flares." "All for the Alliance, and what did his precious Alliance do? Put him through this shit, and if those fucking idiots come to think that he's no use to them –"

To her own surprise, her voice breaks at that.

Kahlee walks over to her. "David and Admiral Hackett have his back," she says as if that meant a thing in the world where everyone stabs you in the back just because they can.

"'David', yeah? You so sure? He's not even a Councillor any more and – Fuck, you stop looking at me like that!"

Behind her turned back, Kahlee speaks softly: "Loving them military men is definitely not easy. It's always duty first and you never know when and if they may come back. All you can do is find out whether you're more miserable waiting for them, or without them entirely. But, you cannot take that part away from them, because that's what they are."

"He left me for a stupid, ungrateful, motherfucking  _organisation_ ," Jack repeats, though she is beginning to feel as if she was staging obtuseness.

A sigh. "The fact that we love someone doesn't mean that they don't make mistakes, and the Alliance is no different. But, when we love someone, we –"

"– forgive their fucking mistakes," Jack snorts bitterly, but the snort turns into a sob. "He  _knew_  he would do this, and he still –"

"And would  _you_  have gone through with it, even knowing what you do?"

_Fuck. Fuck_.

No violent blinking helps: the tears spill over. "He left me," she hears herself whimper. "We had such a short time together, and he left me… damn…" Wiping her eyes, she realizes that her makeup is leaving its positions.

Kahlee produces a tissue and waits for Jack to somewhat recompose. "You know," she says, "loving someone doesn't mean that they occasionally won't be a D-bag. In that case, you can kick their ass in a way of greeting, before you kiss them – if you decide that you want them back in the first place."

_Sounds sensible,_  Jack assesses. She is suddenly feeling rather exhausted but she doesn't need to decide if she wants her dumbass back, though, she knows she does, always has.

What to do with him is another thing.


	29. Chapter 29

The treadmill under her feet is set at top speed and sweat is running down Jack's temples and nape. Kahlee is occupying the treadmill next to her but today there is no chatting; both of them run on, determinedly, both the black and the light blue sweatshirts sporting darker spots.

"Ah, screw it." Siri jumps off the bench where she's been pulling weights, and a pretty impressive load for her age. She is wearing her usual magenta so bright that it makes eyes bleed. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous, but on her wiry frame, it has an edge, just like everything else about Siri.

_Major Siri Momoe, Alliance Intelligence._

Jack hasn't quite stomached that yet; under other circumstances, she never might.

In hindsight, it is clear that for all his competence, Simrawi is more of a muscle, and a pretty recent addition; if the Alliance wanted to keep the tabs on the Academy, they would have wanted someone right there, from the very beginning.

_The fearsome Professor Momoe with the razor-sharp mind and the bluntness of a bullet._

' _Hey,'_ Siri had said that first time when she entered the gym during one of Jack's lonely late evening sessions. ' _Hope you don't mind company? I usually do my rounds in the morning but I swear that if I see one more test today, someone is going to_ die _. Being awesome at biotics apparently comes at the cost of being hopeless at maths. One wonders if this is an entrance pre-requisite here.'_ With a grunt, she started stretching. ' _Or at least I keep telling myself that they are awesome biotics, because such a lack of aptitude must be balanced_ somehow _.'_ Seeing Jack's baffled expression, she chuckled. " _What, no brilliance in your classes, either? The Alliance must not find out, or we're both jobless!'_

It was after this encounter that working out with others became an option.

With her peripheral vision, Jack can see Siri towel her short salt-and-pepper hair; then she picks up a small silvery bottle that was originally hidden under the towel. "Dunno about you two, I've had  _enough_." She takes a generous swig.

Stopping her treadmill, Kahlee leans against its panel for a moment, her loosened hair covering her face. Then, without a word, she takes the offered bottle, and still wordless, stretches her arm towards Jack.

The content of the bottle is strong, with some spicy flavour that Jack doesn't recognize. The bottle passes another round in silence; there are just the three of them this late, having discussed the news and their options, though they are hardly the only ones sleepless tonight.

When the bottle is empty, Siri turns it upside down to check and then tosses it into the corner. When she opens her arms, Kahlee and Jack step in, holding one another tight to draw strength for tomorrow.

The Reapers have come. The Earth is burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, we've finally caught up with the beginning of ME3, so Shepard finally has other things to do than angst and pine in his cell. However, the reunion is still chapters ahead. If you want some more Shepard meanwhile, there is an N7 story A Measure of Things.


	30. Ideas

Fifty-two, fifty-three... He's going through a second round and sweat is running down his temples. Despite his best efforts, he did lose some of his edge during the long house arrest, and he needs to get back in shape ASAP.

_Would I have managed to save Ash, had I been in my top shape? Would I have caught up with that damned thing before it reached the shuttle?_

_Ashley_ 's bruised face looked so lifeless and Shepard wishes he had used explosive rounds on the fucking android. For all the hard words, for all her misgivings, he and Ash go back a long time; together, they fought off Saren, together, they defeated Sovereign. To lose her like that...

_Dr Eva. A fucking Cerberus toy._

High kick, low kick, a punch at the dummy.

_That one's for you, Illusive Man. And that one, as well. You murderous fucker._

He had seen people who suffocated but always in a fight or accident. A whole base of them, sabotaged... he can still feel the burning in his own lungs against the dark disc of Alchera while its sun peeped out behind its horizon in a blinding blaze.

Breathless, he leans against his thighs for a moments, clenching and relaxing his hands, then he straightens and focuses on deep stomach breathing to calm down. He was lucky, after all, he had passed out long before he was incinerated by the passage through the atmosphere; unlike those hapless guys in the lab because Cerberus didn't have the courtesy to shoot them first.

_Cerberus._

The trooper's husk-like face will keep him haunting many a night, that's for sure.

_Fool. The Reapers are here, the doomsday is coming, and you worry if some guy was stupid enough to be implanted voluntarily, or if the Illusive Man just reached another level of ruthless insanity._

Back in his quarters, he washes away the sweat along with the worst of his memories. In a few hours, the Normandy will reach the Citadel, and there is so much to do, so much to catch up with.

_And one more thing to do even before that._

His hand stops short of touching the console.

_Cerberus._

Do they know already? Or would his message be just the one thing they need to find her?

Besides, what would he write her? 'I love you but have more important things to do. See you when I have the time, if I ever do'?

_Yeah, a great idea, Shepard._

His nose itches.

With a sigh, he withdraws his hand.


	31. Options

" _Jack? Can you come over? We have a little situation here."_

'Here' turn out to be the toilets of the senior students' dormitory. Rodriguez is standing before the room, wringing her hands nervously; Kahlee is inside, talking to the closed door.

"Yan," Kahlee says softly but firmly. "This is leading nowhere. Please, come out."

"I am  _not_  leaving," comes the voice, thick and muffled with tears.

"Yan. You are underage, and we are responsible for you. You cannot stay on the station."

"I'll be of age in less than two standard weeks!"

Jack chooses that moment to interfere. "And you're going to spend those two weeks locked in there?"

"It's not like anyone's going to sue you for negligence!" Yan's voice breaks off in sobs. Both Zhangs lived and worked on the Arcturus station and have never been heard about since the Reapers destroyed the station.

Kahlee briefly closes her eyes and Jack feels a tight knot in her stomach. She raps her knuckles at the door. "Hey, Zhang," she says conversationally. "You know I can rip the cabin into shreds and get you out of there, anyway, so why don't you come out? If you wanna play a big girl, don't hide like some snotty brat."

Silence. Then, the door clicks open. Yan walks out, her face a puffed mess of tears, but she bores her eyes into the two women before her. "If you make me leave, I'll wait those two weeks and enlist to finish the training, anyway. So, how about you spare me the problem with finding transport back here?"

"To make good on the formalities, you can be proclaimed as too sick to travel, for about two weeks," Kahlee offers.

Yan nods, sniffing, and Jack feels the knot reaching her throat. "And I'll make sure you kick ass just as you need to."

When Yan breaks down in a new bout of tears, she throws herself into Jack's arms, not Kahlee's.


	32. Choices

The Academy is so quiet that it makes Jack's skin crawl. No shrieking snots getting under everyone's feet or clinging to their tutors' skirts; no giggling teenagers, no maintenance guys lazying around...

The dining hall is almost empty, the silence rings in the corridors, while her steps boom too loud.

_Just like when the Normandy had been invaded._

_The Normandy. The Grissom. Her home. Her world._

It doesn't matter that the Reapers themselves haven't set foot on the station – that short episode with the indoctrinated Grayson doesn't count, though she is a bit sorry that she completely missed the fun – they have come and there is no escape, and the empty place is  _their_  doing.

She  _hates_  them, hates them with the same burning-cold hatred so far reserved only for Cerberus.

Some of the littlest kids were crying when they were leaving the Academy as their parents were taking them to the dubious safety of the worlds so far unafflicted; some were moved to other Alliance facilities, along with their tutors as well as some of their teachers and supporting staff. Some of the staff left for their own families, to rescue, or for a vain search; some enlisted... some enlisted, and stayed, to help the war effort by preparing its weapons.

Biotics and techies. The best that there is of the young generation pledged their powers and brains to the service of the Alliance.

Not all of them, of course - Hu left, refusing to state a reason or his future whereabouts; Patil returned to her family on Terra Nova; Dunbarr joined the Eden Prime militia. Nowak originally decided to stay but when her parents and younger sister came for her, her resolve broke. The family was headed to Horizon, to help run a facility for refugees, and the Nowaks were convinced that Sylvia's skills would be put to better use there. Jack had presumed that Weasley would grab the oportunity and turn tail, as well, but he didn't, despite a teary break-up with Sylvia, and neither did any of the other students offered a place in the Nowaks' luxurious ship. The only one taking the bait turned out Neumann whose patriotic bravado was shrinking by the day with every piece of news of the Reapers' advance.

The students, the whole lot of them, watched their departure in silence, pale and wide-eyed: the temptation of escape, of safety, strained their yet untrained minds to the limits.

"Good riddance," Siri remarked casually, and raised her brow to the shocked gasps and Kahlee's wincing. "Sorry but 'no badmouthing colleagues' ceased to apply the moment he walked through that door."

Rodriguez giggled nervously and the tension decreased, and no thought was paid to those who had left for a safe haven that day until much later, when everyone shuddered at the memory.


	33. A Place Of Your Own

The place is  _big_.

It's a very stupid way to put, and quite an understatement, but he is so overwhelmed that it is all he is capable of, except gaping.

" _Flat" doesn't even start covering it. And neither does "big"._

 _Gosh, the place even has a fucking_ pool _._

Somehow, such excess doesn't go with Anderson, though Shepard does realize that as a former Councillor, Anderson had to  _represent_. The furniture is designer, the materials expensive, the layout impressive…

" _I thought you might need a place of your own, to retreat to and take rest. As it happens, I have one at the Citadel which I currently have no use for…"_

 _Fuck, Anderson, you could have_ warned _me._

Knowing that now, when the Reapers are here and he  _really_  has more important concerns, he still ought to  _represent_ …

Gritting his teeth, he goes from one spacious room to another, feeling unbelievably lost, and lonely…  _more than with Cerberus… more than on Alchera… or Akuze._

_Don't be stupid, Shepard. It's just a fucking flat, albeit a monstrous one._

Then he enters a bedroom which apparently was  _not_  designed as the main one, and suddenly he  _knows_ it's Anderson's, and not just by his medals and a selection of books on the shelves. The room has a different feel – utilitarian, not aesthetic, with space put to good use instead of just show.

Curiously, instead of intruding, Shepard suddenly feels more at home. As if he could glimpse Anderson's wink, hear the deep voice that always sounds a bit annoyed… feel a touch on his shoulder.

The last time he felt that touch, it saved him from falling through a hole as the structure shook under an impact of Reaper fire. A firm hand steadied him on the beam they were traversing, and then they fought, side by side, through dying Vancouver. The last he saw of Anderson was his face lifted upwards, among the ruin of the harbour and scattered bodies.

Shepard's hands rises to the dogtags on his neck. He closes the door gently.

He picks another such bedroom, just opposite. He knows all too well who he would like to share the luxurious double bed of the main bedroom with, and cannot bear the thought of lying there alone.


	34. Public Relations

"Commander Shepard?"

The man pauses before he turns, broad shoulders and all, and gives Natalie a  _look_. She has been told to go to hell with a friendlier expression. "And you might be?"

"Natalie Oendoe, Interstellar Broadcast," she replies and withstands another look, from head to toe – precisely, from a short-cut hair, minimum make-up and a pantsuit that manages to be flattering while looking casual and inexpensive and just  _slightly_  resembling a uniform, to elegant but perfectly practical shoes.

The Commander, himself in a nondescript casual outfit, slowly folds his arms across his chest. "Let me guess. People could use some cheering up, some exciting reports and a familiar heroic face, and you happen to be just the right person to deliver, provided that I let you on board. War effort helped, everybody happy and your career gets boosted. Have I left anything out?"

"Nope," Natalie agrees, feeling as if the guy had drills instead of his eyes, which are kinda weird, anyway, until she remembers that they are probably implants.

"And how many more of you are going to pester me if I tell you to sod off?"

She responds with a politely blank stare, which deserves her a snort. "Yeah, sure." Another head-to-toe look. "At least you look reasonable enough. We're leaving 15:00, sharp. If you're not on board by then, your problem. Take just the minimum things you need, no fancy stuff. Also, the Normandy is a war ship. You're not military so the rules against fraternisation do not apply but you won't be a source of any disruptions to the crew or I send you through the airlock. Have a nice day, miss Oendoe."

Only once the Commander is at a safe distance does Natalie relieve the breath that she has been holding and her lips turn into a grin that she is unable to suppress. '15:00, sharp' leaves her enough time to pick her baggage and stop for a drink at  _Elasiano_  to tell Chloe, Myrna and Jess that they needn't try any more and to gloat just a wee bit.

_Speaking of which..._

Natalie activates her omnitool. "Hi, Diane," she chirps sweetly. "Hun, you wouldn't believe it... I've just got stationed on the  _Normandy_! With Commander Shepard himself! My, I am  _so_  excited! What about you, any luck finding a ship?"

Never, ever in her life would Natalie admit to anyone that had she not been acquainted with Allers' technician and heard about "no flying brothel", she might have done the wrong move and taken a low-cut dress, as well.


	35. Why?

There being so few of them, it has come natural that they tend to meet for meals in the dining hall. A motley lot, they are, and Jack often wonders:  _why stay?_

Kahlee and Siri are a no-brainer and so is Simrawi with his orders but the rest are a sort of enigmas.

"Why, someone has to see that you folks don't starve," Sarah Klostermann, the chief cook, smiles at her. "Pots and pans are just my thing, and as long as the supplies keep coming, I'm fine." Her modern kitchen unit hardly contains anything resembling traditional pots and pans but it doesn't seem to matter.

"I'm the station  _doctor_ ," Jeanette Frobisher replies after a few seconds' blinking. Tiny and soft-spoken, she is nothing like Chakwas and Jack can't really see her handling blood and guts and the like, though she must have, on at least one occasion.

"Haha, you'd come screaming for good ol' Cas if the heating unit in your showers got fried, haha." Cas Polanski slaps his magnificent belly, fishes a screwdriver out of his pocket and flips it in a complicated manoeuvre. Anh Do Huu, his partner, quips in more seriously: "The station cannot be left without expert maintenance. Should there be some fatal error in the life support systems, you guys and the kids would be in a great deal of trouble."

And everyone looks at her as if she was weird to ask.

When she asks Vincent, he looks at her very long. "Why are  _you_  here?" he retorts.

Now it's Jack's turn to blink. "What kind of -" -  _fucking stupid question is this?_  It's  _her_  kids,  _hers_ , she'd never, ever, leave them in this shit alone, they need her, they wouldn't stand a chance -

Baffled, she sees Vincent smile at her and raise his brows a little, as if saying, ' _See? You asked first, such a silly question. We are needed, that's why_.'

Yet, there is something more to his eyes, and she doesn't quite know how to address that. "I, uh, I am glad that you're here, Vincent. You're doing great job, with the kids."

"So do you."

On an impulse, she leans forward to kiss him. She meant on the cheek but he moves his head and their lips meet. He is a good kisser, actually, much better than she would have thought, gentle but teasing with promise.

The kiss doesn't last long, though, and Vincent steps back. "Whoever he is, he's a lucky man," he says, blushing but a little, and Jack finds her tongue tied again.

"He – he's with the Alliance,"  _fucking Commander Shepard who is out there somewhere and never even sent a word._ If not for the news reports, she wouldn't even know if he still lives.

Vincent takes her by the hands, so fucking understanding and so off the point that she wants to scream. "He – he will be alright," he offers – empty words because with the Reapers, it's more likely that no-one and nothing will, but it is the intention that counts, she has learned at least that much.

Yet, at night, she lies wide awake, and her eyes sting with the bitterness of unfulfilled promises. He never, ever, sent a word, and she doesn't know why.


	36. Matters of Procreation

"Do you have children, Commander?"

The question catches him by surprise, and he chuckles. "No, I don't, Eve. I'm not exactly a family type."

"But a man of your merit should definitely pass his genes on. It would be a great loss if you didn't. Haven't you found a worthy mate?"

 _A mate_. All of a sudden, his mind is full of Jack's smile and lips and eyes, the defiant stride, the sensual dance, the tattooed limbs weaving with his, all the images and memories that he has been struggling to keep at bay night and day.

Eve leans forward, her voice gaining a deeper timbre. "I am sorry, Commander. Is she dead?"

After all his dealings with Wrex and Grunt and Wreav, Eve's perceptiveness offers an entirely different perspective – one that gives him hope for the krogan, though the thought how much depends on the single female is daunting.

Sometimes, he feels the same about his own role in it all.

"No, she's not dead," he replies, forcing himself to remain calm, yet again as he has so many times of late. "We had a break-up, though. She didn't take it lightly – broke my nose in a way of goodbye, actually," he tries to make light of it.

Unsuccessfully. Eve will not be deterred and her eyes are intent on him, and his strained defences are breaking.

In a way, it is a relief that someone is not deterred, not buying the light-hearted deflections or "mission first" crap.

"It was my fault. I let her down and I don't know if she would still want me back."  _And if not..._

The wise reptilian eyes watch his struggle, the clawed hand rests on his – those very claws that dug Eve out of the darkness of a cave where she was buried alive.

_Eve never gave up hope, be it against the ton of soil or the curse of the genophage. Whereas I -_

"You need to talk to her. You know that, Commander. What holds you back?"

The answer is the one that presses on his mind at sleepless nights when he is afraid to lose that sliver of hope which still remains.

Suddenly heavy, the claws dig deep into his flesh. "Or would you give her up without a fight, Commander?"

"But I already have a fight that I must fully commit myself to. I cannot fight on two fronts -"

A deep grumble of Eve's vocal chords. "And you would let the Reapers make you think that you can have either a mission or a mate but not both? Would you grant them such a victory?"

"But -" he starts, about to reiterate all those sensible reasons that he has drilled into his mind – and then comes to realize how meaningless they have become.

His hand hurts but he suddenly feels much better than in months. "Ah – I see. You're right. I'll call her right after we wrap it up on Tuchanka." On an impulse, he puts his other hand over hers, feeling the scars on the scaly skin. "Thank you, Eve."

Behind her veil, the sharp teeth flicker in a smile. "You are working so hard to allow me and my people to procreate. I am merely trying to return the favour."


	37. Fancies

"So we're finally screwed," Siri assesses; standing behind her, Simrawi nods grimly. "We have Reapers on their way here and not much time left. We need to get our asses out of here ASAP, only our darling Alliance informs us that they may not be able to arrange an evac in time. We're told not to worry, though, 'cause "they are working on it intensively". She snorts. "I say, we send a distress signal and get on whatever ship answers, even if we should have a swim with the hanar. The estimates say that we have a couple more days left before the Reapers come say hello but I'd hate to bet our lives on  _estimates_ , especially after they worked oh-so-well for us before."

No-one protests, and to lighten the mood, preferences for an evac ship are being thrown around. The male half of the station fancies an asari ship while the  _reasonable_  half hopes for  _any_  ship, even though the idea of spending days in a sealed suit and walking bent forward on a volus ship is less than appealing.

When a turian cruiser, not even a day away, answers their call, the collective relief drowns all the unfulfilled fancies.

"If you guys have never met a turian, don't be afraid, or at least don't show it. And,  _behave_ , the turians are all about hierarchy and orders and manners – yeah, I'm talking to you specifically, Weasley," Jack instructs her students. She gets a defiant glare and Rodriguez giggles nervously. "No worries, you suckers won't be seeing any real combat just yet. You will have your share of Reapers to kick their asses later. Now, go and pack your stuff – just the basics, no fancy crap, mind you – and be ready."

Her own pack is rather small but for her combat gear (minus the gun, the Alliance wouldn't have her move around armed). She touches her asari hardsuit lovingly, the smooth black-bluish surface: she won't be wearing it just yet not to draw too much attention among the turians, her tattooed mug itself is notorious enough.

The door panel chimes:  _Rodriguez_.

"Come in," Jack calls, and the way the girl's eyes bulge give her no little satisfaction.

"That's  _yours_?" Rodriguez whispers in awe.

"Yep,"  _and don't ask how I got it_. "'Been checking it before we set out. Have you checked yours?"

The awe turns into a blush. "I, uh... not yet. I just, uh, meant to ask if you know where we will be going with those turians."

"Nope but most probably, the Citadel. You'll like that, Rodriguez."

When the girl is gone, Jack touches the hardsuit again. It's in no need of checking but by leaving Grissom, the chances of seeing Shepard again will rise dramatically and it's too sudden for her to grasp how she feels about that.


	38. Predictions

As a tech specialist, Samantha Traynor knows that she is the best you can get. As a predictionist, time and again she is forced to acknowledge that she sucks big time.

Growing up on a backwater colony world, she never expected to rise to the occasion and see the big universe and the Earth and even get a stellar job. When she did, she never expected to get her hands on such an exquisite piece of cutting-edge technology as the  _Normandy_. When she did, she never expected to stay on board to fight off an invasion of space monsters, under the command of no other than Commander Shepard himself. When she did, she never expected him to be the type for a game of chess in between the missions or collect toy ships or -

Whatever. Either way, after Mars and Palaven and Sur'Kesh and Tuchanka, she learned to expect anything, or so she thought. Her prediction skills turned out yet another failure, though, because she had never expected to see Shepard  _blanche_.

You know,  _Shepard_. The guy who danced under a Reaper's legs. Feet. Whatever.

Either way, it didn't seem like particularly big news – the Reapers closing in on the sector where Grissom Academy is located, and a fake evacuation orchestrated by Cerberus; what's that in comparison with whole worlds falling prey?

Samantha  _had_  expected Shepard to change the course from the Citadel to the Petra Nebula, of course, but not the urgency with which the Commander gave the order and rushed to the CiC.

"What's this about?" Samantha voices her bafflement to Chakwas who had been indulging in a light chat with the Commander until a moment ago and now looks like the proverbial cat who ate the equally proverbial canary.

The doctor somewhat schools her features. "I had often wondered, and turns out, I was not wrong."

"Wait – you mean, he has someone there? A family?" That's what the Academy is for, biotic kids, right? Though Shepard doesn't look like a family type.

A chuckle. "Not exactly, or rather, not quite yet."

Samantha feels her mouth shape a little 'o' as if she had overlooked an obvious check-mate. "Oh.  _Oh_. You mean, the Commander -"

Chakwas raises her brow. "I haven't said a word."

The rest of their journey, Samantha spends wondering what kind of person Shepard is so attached to. When she finds out, she is not really surprised that her prediction failed yet again.


	39. Taste of Ashes

Jack speeds through the corridor, her stomping feet throbbing in unison with her heart. Taking a sharp turn, she nearly bounces into the wall but doesn't waste the time on swearing. Cold sweat trickles down her temples.

 _They give the turian ship an approach vector and go to the hangar to welcome the turian squad, she and Kahlee and Siri and Vincent, and take Simrawi and two security guys along, Roswell and Morales, to look official, because,_ turians _. Then the airlock opens, and everything goes to hell._

She jumps a flight of stairs, using her biotics to ease her landing. Resuming the sprint, she can still hear the gunfire above her head.

" _Get down!" Jack and Simrawi are the quickest to react to the oncoming fire, even before they fully take in the yellow-black hexagon on the shuttles. Simrawi, blessed be the fucker, brings Kahlee and Siri down, Roswell jumps behind some containers, Morales gets a hit in the leg and bleeds like a pig. Vincent..._

 _In that short instant before Jack puts up a barrier, Vincent doesn't manage –_ bloody civilian, no reflexes at all, shouldn't be here at all, shouldn't have stayed, damn him _– and his headless torso splashes them all with blood as he collapses on the floor._

_Under the cover of Jack's barrier, they retreat to the corridor, leaving the casualties behind, and seal the door to buy them time._

_They all know immediately what Cerberus has come for._

Another explosion shakes the station. With a flick of her wrist, Jack smashes open the safety cover and seals another door behind her.

_The 'tools are being jammed and Siri curses. "To the comm, quickly," she gasps as they sprint to the security point. Kahlee doesn't even bother to nod, only darts ahead._

" _You, Jack, get to the kids. Try to barricade yourself in the training grounds, it has a separate life-support system."_

" _But I can't let you -"_

_Siri gives her a brief smile, without the usual edge. The gun looks inappropriate in her manicured hand. "Go to the kids, Jackie. We'll have your back for a while. Run!"_

_Her throat tightens._

" _'Will come handy." Barely looking at her, Simrawi tosses her something as he rummages through the security safe, and her feet carry her a few metres away before she fully realizes what it is that she is holding: a Carnifex, fitting her hand as perfectly as only a custom-made weapon can._

_But by then, she is already behind the corner, without thanks or even a goodbye._

"Miss Nought! What – what has happened? What – ?" Cas Polanski , wide-eyed, and not a trace of his usual joviality.

"Cerberus! They've come for the kids!" she yells and doesn't wait for his reaction, doesn't care if he follows or not. She is running to her kids, and Vincent's blood is drying on her face.


	40. A Call

The floor shakes under their feet and the glasses rattle on the table to the sound of an explosion just as they are finishing their last meal on the station – the last supper, as someone put it – and their first thought is that the turian ship must have made a wrong manoeuvre or something; they expect the sound of life support alarm any moment, and a  _ping_  of their 'tools from the teachers or security.

But the omnitools remain silent, and to their astonishment, the communication channels are dead.

For a moment, they exchange glances in which bafflement is turning into fear, and Mrs Klostermann, who has kept rushing them to finish the meal because "the ship won't wait", mutters " _mein Gott"_ and presses her hands to her mouth.

Then there's another explosion, and Amir comes running back from the toilets screaming something about gunfire.

Rodriguez turns pale like paper. "The Reapers are here?"

"It cannot be the Reapers, Ela," Jason Prangley hears himself say; the Reapers would take them on the move without even slowing down.

"But we're under attack, smartass! Whoever it is, we must warn the others, the 'tools are not working!" Weasley yells, turning to the door.

He is right, of course – the techies are all gone, packing their precious prototypes in their wing, the Bellarmines have already left, as well, and Kitty Saroyan, and -

-  _only, he is not._ "No, wait, we can't just run about the station -"

"You fucking coward!" Weasley growls into his face. "That's a  _fight_  up there, we've been trained for this!"

"No, we must stick together, Miss Nought wouldn't want us -"

" _Fuck_  you, brownnoser!"

" _Paul_! Don't -"

But the years of animosity interfere and Weasley doesn't even slow down. Yan follows, Amir makes a few uncertain steps, the others hesitate.

 _One lost,_ Jason realizes, and tries again. " _Zhang! Ensign Zhang!_ " His voice snaps just like Miss Nought's, and brings Yan to a pause. "You won't help anyone if you get yourself killed. We must not get separated. We must - " His stomach flutters, with everyone's eyes on him, but his heads seems to be working on its own. "We should stay away from the main access route, it may already have been taken. We go to our lounge as we're supposed to and pick the others."  _If they had enough sense to go there._ "Now, team up, just like in the lessons. Mrs Klostermann, would you please -"

But Sarah Klostermann is already handing out energy drinks and they move out, checking the corridor before them. Jason Prangley leads and tries to ignore the cold lump in his stomach: the knowledge that he has made a call whom to save and whom to sacrifice, and he desperately wishes for someone to tell him that it was the right choice.


	41. Dealing

Cerberus has swarmed the station, there is gunfire everywhere, and each shot can be heralding a bullet that finds her; they pass many bodies, and each can be hers. Each time they encounter some survivors, his hope surges; each time it is not her, it dies again, yet Shepard clears his way through the Grissom Academy with grim determination: each Cerberus trooper that goes down, monstrous in the massive hardsuit, is one less that can harm her.

One more down still leaves too many.

It's not like Shepard has never worried about Jack before but it was different when they were in a fight together, or when they were half a galaxy away. Now it is only minutes and metres, and while his body performs the learned moves and manoeuvres, something inside him is growing cold with each step: each body can be hers, and he will be late.

At the same time, though, each step brings him closer to her, and Shepard doesn't know what he will do, or what she will – but as usually, universe has its own ways of orchestrating things.

Ironically, when he finally finds her, he doesn't see her at first – a group of biotic students are cornered in some hall, trying to make use of the architecture to their defence, but the Cerberus troops are too many and better trained. A girl shockwaves several of the bastards but one of them eludes her powers and is suddenly looming over her; instead of shocking him right into his face, the girl steps back, panicking. The muzzle of Shepard's gun trains at his head instantly but he would have been late, if not for a flash of bright corona, sending the Cerberus pawn flying with bone-breaking force.

In all of Shepard's experience, only few people have been able to use such force and out of those, only one has been etched in his thoughts – yet he never saw her in the middle of the fight until this very moment, and even as he sees her, he still doesn't fail to see the troopers regrouping, reinforcements coming in, a huge Atlas mechanism breaking its way through. He doesn't call at her but gives out orders instead, doesn't come running to her but takes cover to do his job.

Now that he has found her, dealing with Cerberus is easier than dealing with the woman he loves.


	42. Back

Funny how in the middle of the fight, she never thought that Shepard might turn up himself, never thought that he might be with the marine detail that swarmed on the Cerberus fuckers and fed them their own shit. But then, as her kids were relieved of the pressure, she noticed a turian sniper with a very familiar style and moves, and that made her realize who the guy in the N7 armour must be, even before she realized that his moves  _also_  look familiar.

_Shepard._

Only in the momentary respite when all the Cerberus troops in the vicinity have been eliminated, Jack finds herself able to fully grasp the reality of it:  _he is here. Shepard. Shepard._ And at the same time, she finds herself at a loss: among all the scenarios of their meeting which she has fantasized, this one never occurred to her.  _He is here, right here_ …

In the grip of battling emotions, she watches him take off his helmet and approach her, with a weird, emotional look –

–  _with the same fucking stupid guilty look as when he told her he was going to leave –_

That does it.

Shepard's head almost flies off his shoulders from her right hook, his jaw drops and his hand flies reflexively to his face. He looks so baffled as she has never seen him before. "I've come back," he says lamely. "I said I would…"

And with that stupid look on his face, she finally, and fully, realizes what it means to her. What  _he_  means to her. "You have, dumbass. You have." Her voice is thick with emotion.  _I knew it, I knew it, I hoped, I was afraid..._

When she kisses him, she glances an even more stupefied expression, before his lips melt against hers.

As she is about to finally pull away, he holds her, looking a bit more himself again. "I already got one good-bye punch before. I deserve one more kiss."

Jack narrows her eyes. " _That_  one was for leaving me.  _This_  one was for being a dick about it. I have quite a couple more to deliver but let's leave it for later. First get us out of here."

But she does peck him on the lips again before she lets go.


	43. Nothing Else

Ela Rodriguez is moving through a nightmare, and cannot really believe that this is happening.

The war itself was bad enough - even though she knew that she was training for it, it was far away, on a day yet far, against some monsters that cannot really exist anywhere except in a bad dream.  _But here, here and now..._

Now they are fighting people, real people, there is blood, so much of it, so red... Katie Donovan got shot, and Amir is hurt, and that funny kind Mr Polanski, unarmed but for his screwdriver, threw himself before Yan when those horrible people ambushed them. Seanna and Riley are missing, and Paul Weasley never came back, and Mrs Momoe and Mr Grafton and Doctor Frobisher...

Ela keeps running, and inside she is whimpering with terror. There are so many of them, so many of those people in the monstrous black hardsuits, anonymous in their helmets, so terrifying...

The voice that keeps broadcasting on the station intercom is warm and reassuring but its repetitiveness is only racking her nerves even more –  _mechanic, artificial... False_. Yet, she wanted to believe it at first, so desperately, because it offered a way out of that nightmare and she felt she couldn't stand any more. When Miss Nought shook her harshly, she almost  _hated_  her, for shattering that tiny hope.

_'See those scars, Rodriguez? See them? That's Cerberus' doing, and they did this to me when I was a kid, not even half your age. That's what Cerberus does!'_

She then looked into Miss Nought's eyes and knew that it was true, that the pleasant voice is just another part of the nightmare, and so she keeps running and fighting because there is nothing else she can do, nothing else. She must work for her own rescue instead just being rescued like in all those stupid vids where the hero turns up, kills all the baddies single-handedly, kisses his girl and then there's music and credits.  _Well, yes, the kiss_ was _there..._  But then they have to fight their way through the station, fight and fight again, follow Commander Shepard, and she feels that she cannot bear any more – yet, somehow, she does.

When they finally reach the hangar and the shuttles, she cannot believe that they have made it for real, but just as she is about to grasp that it  _is_  over, something hits her in the leg and she falls down, so close, so impossibly close, and she cannot get up.

The next moment, though, Jason and Yan grab her by the arms and drag her towards a shuttle, and Miss Nought puts up a strong barrier while Commander Shepard and his squad cover them.

"Go, go, go!" Miss Nought yells, standing by the shuttle door and maintaining the barrier. "Get your ass inside, Shepard, you're last!"

"Take off!" The Commander throws a grenade towards the Cerberus troopers, then grabs Miss Nought by the waist and jumps with her through the closing door.

"Just like the good old days," Ela hears her say. "Get the fuck off me, I swear you must have put on weight."

She doesn't hear an answer; knowing that the nightmare is over, she can finally pass out, without dreams.


	44. Duty

The mission is wrapped up, the injured taken care of, the uninjured accommodated, the course set, the report can wait, shower can wait, rest can wait... he cannot. Only, the words that he had meant to say are suddenly gone, and so he goes all business, asking all the nonsense about the attack, what preceded and followed, and Jack talks about her students, their strengths and weaknesses, their options for the future. A part of him is intrigued because he never imagined there might be this side to her and he is falling for this awesome woman even more, but...

Kissing in the heat of the fight was easy. Now that the fight is over, there is a wall between them, and neither seems ready to tear it down.

There comes a pause and lingers with all the words unsaid, and Shepard throws caution to the wind: sometimes, words may be superfluous -

He doesn't even finish the thought and he is holding her, kissing her, her lips, her body -

"Hey." She breaks the kiss, presses her hands against his chest; flushed but in control. "I  _am_  happy to see you and all but gear down, will you? I haven't seen you for months, haven't even heard from you, and now what? We have a reunion fuck and then bye-bye, see you again when I see you, or perhaps not?"

"Jack -" he realizes that he is still holding her, his thigh between hers,  _needy_. He takes a deep breath; his head simply isn't working. "Sorry. I – I wanted to... I missed you." He lets go, runs his hands over his face, feeling in his gut that this is not going to end well. "This is not the way I wanted it and there is so little I can offer but we can make it work. You can stay on the Normandy, we could -"

Her brows rise and she shakes her head, barking a laugh. "You nuts? By no means, I cannot leave the kids. They'd get shredded against the Reapers..."

She says more but he doesn't really listen. Her eyes are shining, unwavering, and he knows that he has lost her... to duty.

 _Duty_.

"You're right, of course," he forces himself to say, "I haven't thought this through. Of course you cannot leave the kids. You have done splendid job with them... I'm proud of you. Really proud."

And then he quickly turns and leaves because he cannot bear the shattered hopes any more, and doesn't see the sudden regret in her eyes.


	45. Moments

"Ma'am?" Rodriguez is pale against the pillow, the canula in her forearm making up for the blood loss. Her eyes are hazy from the sedatives but urgent nonetheless. "What... happened to the others? Do you know?"

Jack holds back a sigh. "Seanna is over there," she indicates the part of the medbay separated from the rest and designated for serious cases. "She's badly wounded but she will be alright. Riley is keeping her company."

The girl's eyes, so dark, wait for continuation but Jack looks aside instead. She doesn't want to tell Rodriguez that a student matching Weasley's description was dragged away before the marines could intervene, or that Saroyan got shot along with Doctor Frobisher, probably mistaken for a nurse in the infirmary. She doesn't want to think of Vincent's bursting head or of Siri's last stand.

Rodriguez closes her eyes and tears start sliding from the corners. The amplitudes on the monitors begin to peak.

"Come on, Rodriguez, stop or Doctor Chakwas will carry me out in her teeth."

The girl tries to smile through the tears. "That would be a sight." Then her eyes turn dark again. "I was so scared... still am. How do you do it that you are not afraid? I don't think I could ever do this again..."

"Practice," Jack says brusquely and forces a smile: she remembers all too well how scared she had been in her first fights, until the fear was beaten out of her. "But, hey, you did good. Really, I mean it – you were scared but you didn't break. That means a lot."

The girl seems reluctant to believe. "I was so scared that I might panic," she whispers, "but Jason was awesome. So calm, so rational – he saved us, he kept us together before you came for us."

"He did," Jack nods. "He's a natural leader."  _And a top prize for Cerberus because of that_ , Shepard told her.

 _Shepard_.  _Damn the man, always pops up somehow_.

As if reading her thoughts, the girl's face livens up. "I'd never have thought that I would meet Commander Shepard. It's weird..." she pauses. "I don't think we would have held much longer if he hadn't turned up. Such little moments... how much they can change."

Jack feels her throat tighten. Chakwas coming to check on Rodriguez saves her from answering, but nothing can save her from her own thoughts.


	46. Forgiving

The floor of the cargo bay, turned into a provisionary bedroom, is cold under her bare feet but she doesn't mind. Cautiously, Jack tiptoes past Kahlee, whose face is still drawn with exhaustion even in her sleep.

In the cold lights of the corridor, she wraps her arms around her.

_Damn you, Shepard._

Her feet carry her to the medbay once more. The medician of the nightshift looks surprised but doesn't object or comment on her insufficient clothing.

Everyone seems sound asleep. Riley is crouched in the chair next to his sister's bed; Seanna's face under the oxygen mask is pale, her vitals weak but stable.  _A moment later, and she wouldn't be here._  Jack stands by her bed for an eternity, finally embracing a resolve.

_Shepard._

Standing before his door feels like a  _deja vu_. "Fuck, I  _know_  what I am doing this time," she mutters. Her hand pauses short of touching the door panel. "EDI?" she asks in a low voice. "Is Shepard asleep?"

"Yes," the bodiless voice replies, also softly.

"Can you open the door very slowly and quietly?"

"I am fully able to adjust the door functions but I do not think it advisable to disturb the Commander's sleep."

 _Smartass bitch_. "He'll sleep better for it, not worse. Now that you've got yourself that sexy body, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

No response but then the door slowly starts sliding into the wall.

Illuminated by the glow of the clock on the bedside table, Shepard is a dark shape against the sheets, his arm hugging a pillow. Exhausted, he doesn't wake immediately but then springs up. "Who –  _Jack?"_ he touches the nightlamp and squints at her, gaping and rubbing his eyes. "Jack, what are you -"

"What do you think?" Nonchalantly, she kicks off her pants in the direction of the T-shirt.

"Jack -" He actually pulls  _away_  as she approaches the bed. "I don't think this is a good idea -"

"Then don't think." When she touches his shoulders, he shudders as if electrified.

"Jack, first we should talk -"

"Hush. You can't possibly say anything I haven't thought about myself -"

"But -"

"- so there's no point in saying it, dumbass. I forgive you. I'm forgiving you right now."

His hands are already on her hips but he still won't shut up. "You really sure -"

"Fuck, Shepard! You can't stay, I can't stay, but what's in between is ours! If we can only have moments, I won't let the Reapers take them away from me! Now, do you want to be punched, or forgiven?"

The answer is a no-brainer.


	47. Never Changing

"...and the first thing, I'll take you to the best bar on the Citadel..."

"Yeah?" Jack purrs and puts her leg over his. "And after that?"

"After that, I have a surprise for you. You'll love it," he smiles, thinking of the pool in Anderson's flat and of the large bed in the main bedroom.

"Mmmm..." her hand travels down his chest. "Sounds like a plan. Any plans for now, though?"

Shepard chuckles. He feels happy, happy and sated as he hasn't since... he can barely remember since when.

 _Thanks to her_.

Jack's warmth against him, her smile, her silken skin under his fingers... the touch washes away the constant strain and the nightmare of Tuchanka fades, Lieutenant Victus' death and Mordin's sacrifice. He lets his hand trail along her throat and shoulder, to cup a breast. "Any special requirements?"

Her eyes sparkle. "A shower."

"Ouch. I hope the Alliance didn't limit the water supply when they refitted the Normandy."

"Fuck the Alliance," Jack grunts. "Or rather, fuck me."

"Dirty mouth."

She straddles him. "You like when I talk dirty, Shepard. Admit it."

"Is that coercion?"

"Will be soon enough. The shower now."

Shepard laughs again, almost light-headed. The shift started about an hour ago but he called quits, just like that, without any explanation. With Jack's legs wrapped around his hips, he carries her around the cabin, pretending that he cannot find the shower and making use of various other furnishing while being repeatedly threatened with utter and complete and rather graphic destruction.

Finally, with the lights turned down, they find out that water ratios have been left unmessed. In the gentle warm streamlets, Jack holds tight onto him, her cheek against his, the water sealing them together in its embrace.

When they're drying together in the streams of warm air and Jack is ruffling her hair to make it dry faster, he buries his fingers into the russet strands. "I like your hair," he mutters, kissing her nape. She turns to him with that rare, shy expression that invariably makes him lose his heart again. Whatever she may have wanted to say, though, remains unsaid as the comm comes alive with Joker's voice: " _Commander... you had better come over. There seems to be a situation."_

Shepard silently counts to three before he replies. "What situation, Joker?"

" _The Citadel flight control. It isn't responding. The traffic is a mess._ "

"I'm on my way," he sighs, turning to Jack apologetically, but she grins.

"Ass-kicking time now? Even better! What are you waiting for?"

Some things simply never change.


	48. Too Fast, Or Not

Ashley knew that this was going to be one of those days ever since the morning when she knocked over her coffee and sent it flying as she was trying to prevent it from spilling.

 _Too fast for your own good, Williams,_  her mother used to say, even though she usually meant her big mouth.

The moments when she was not fast enough, though, are those that usually plague her nights. Virmire, Horizon, Mars...

All three connected to Shepard, who always turns up in her life to sweep her off her feet without even realizing it, each time worse than before and each time leaving her with a feeling that she screwed up even though her attitude was always perfectly legitimate.

When Cerberus attacks the Citadel and she nearly fails protecting the Councillors by falling for Udina's scheme, it really doesn't come as a surprise that Shepard is involved again, and she feels like a complete idiot for nearly shooting him. The presence of Liara T'Soni only makes this worse for her – right back there, during the good old days of chasing Saren, Ashley knew  _competition_  when she saw her.

Yet, because this is one of those days, things get even worse when the lift yields Bailey with his C-Secs as well as a tattooed biotic whom Ashley immediately recognizes as one of those notorious criminal types who were with Shepard on Horizon. She didn't like her back then and she doesn't like her now, and she knows  _competition_  even before Shepard stands too close by her side to introduce them.

"No need to," she says sharply, "I am familiar with Miss... Jack's... dossier."

She knows immediately that she has screwed up once again. Unlike the tattooed bitch, Shepard doesn't glare at her but becomes stiffly polite. "I believe that you are mistaken. This is Jacqueline Nought, a most accomplished teacher of the Grissom Academy – Lieutenant-Commander Ashley Williams, the second human Spectre. Now, Ashley, if you will excuse us, we have yet some work to do."

"Sure, see you later," she says casually because she would rather bite off her tongue than let show how hurt and disappointed she is.

The moment Shepard slides his arm around the  _criminal_ 's waist, though, she wishes she had her finger on the trigger again.


	49. Analysis of Dance

Seated at a table in a side lounge, she holds a glass with a cherry and a little umbrella in her hand: her synthetic body possesses sensors to analyse what is put in her mouth (it can even ingest though the content of her stomach has to be removed later). Meanwhile, the standards routines of the  _Normandy_  run almost on her own while her eyes and ears, hacked onto the system of the security cameras, are all around the Purgatory.

There is Jeff, drinking with several servicemen of the Normandy at the bar, and Vega buddy-buddying with some grunts on a different floor. There are humans and asari, turians and even a few krogan, volus and a hanar... and there is also Shepard, and Jack, on the dance floor.

During the idle times when the  _Normandy_  doesn't require her full attention, EDI devotes a part of her capacity to studying human customs, including dance, and she knows all there is to it: the styles and moves and rhythms, the cultural and religious and biological background, the hormones and the emotions. She can easily tell that Shepard is off the rhythm most of the time whereas Jack fits many a category that the imperfect human eye labels as "perfection" - yet, despite the discrepancy, they seem to be enjoying themselves.

Then, as the set of fast songs is alternated with a slower one to give the dancers the time to catch their breath, Jack and Shepard dance together – still off the rhythm but creating their own, her forehead resting in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping her, holding her close, and her arms wrapping him in return.

 _Jennifer D._  That is the name that EDI has found in the Cerberus files when her shackles were removed. She wonders whether the woman in Shepard's arms would like to know a piece of something that she is no more. Basing her estimate on Shepard's behaviour, she thinks she would, but the variable of the reception cannot be established with certainty.

She notices and evaluates the change in the pair's movements, and correctly predicts the following course of action even before Shepard and Jack start kissing deeply. They leave the dance floor soon after and EDI follows them from camera to camera. The one in the ante-room has a blind spot but she still has the visuals from Shepard's implants, though often incomplete as he closes his eyes, and the audio is perfectly clear, transmitting every word, every moan and hitch of breath:

" _Hey... don't start what you can't finish here..."_

The response, as typical of Jack, doesn't make really sense, though EDI safely concludes that it concerns sexual activity.

" _No, Jack, we're totally not doing it behind some extraterrestrial shrubbery -"_

It is _mana'vus_ , native of Sur'Kesh, her databases tell her, and a cultivated species of Thessian  _chrysantha_ , but she doubts that the knowledge would be appreciated. Leaving her subroutines to keep an eye on Shepard the way she always does without him ever knowing, EDI brings her attention to the room where her platform is. Slowly, she walks over to the dance floor, choosing an angle where Jeff can see her from the bar. Recreating Jack's moves with perfect precision, she starts to dance.


	50. Monsters

The girl is missing half her head but even if not for that, Jack would have hard time believing the DNA identification. The face is haggard, the once lustrous lips thin, the blonde mane shaved off and what remains of her skull shows fresh signs of extensive surgery. The worst are her eyes, though – glazed over but still electric blue, sunk deep in darkened flesh,  _husk-like..._

"How?" Jack asks, not recognizing her own voice. Shepard was right, she shouldn't have gone to the morgue to see for herself "How did she end up with Cerberus? She was headed to Horizon, with her family... she was to be safe, Shepard! Safe!"

"I'm sorry, Jack," he replies softly "We have sent a query to Horizon. It turns out that Sylvia Nowak was there only briefly and then left on her own, without stating her destination. Her family was rather distressed and left in search of her shortly after... Jack, do you have an idea where she might have been headed?"

She shakes her head. "Her boyfriend stayed at the Academy. Paul Weasley – the one..."

"I remember. Do you know if they kept in touch?"

"No." She is feeling very, very cold.

"They might have faked a message from him to lure her, or..." A pause. "Jack... what do you know about the girl or her family?"

"Not much. Kahlee might –  _what do you mean_?" Her voice rises shrilly.

"That extensive dossier on your students must have come from  _somewhere_. They might have had a mole at the Academy, they might have hacked its files... but we cannot exclude the girl as the source. The question is only, willing or -"

"No!" She flings her arm towards the monstrosity that used to be Sylvia. "You see what they did to her! They messed with her m-mind, implanted her to m-make her b-biotics stronger!" Jack's beginning to shudder, her teeth chattering. "She -"

_\- used to be such a happy-go-lucky creature, not among Jack's top favourites but there was something endearing about her, the way she beamed when she managed a decent barrier -_

Shepard's hands around her shoulders, his warmth...

"I WANT THEM DEAD!" she screams against his chest, the dark energy swelling in her to smash and kill and burn and destroy -

"Shhh." Shepard is slowly rocking her, "shhh. I'll see to that." He maneuvers her outside, away from the corpse on the white table on which she is lying because she had been tied to another such table, the lights were cold, stabbing her eyes, and she could only scream her protest before the drugs took effect -

In the corridor, Shepard keeps rocking her, talking softly. "The Alliance is pissed alright with the way Cerberus keeps hampering the war effort, and this attack was only the last straw. We'll be launching a counteroffensive against their bases of operation and out intelligence officers are working their asses off to get us as many leads as possible. I have even contacted Lawson to increase our chances. We're going to strike back, and hard, with all the ships that can be spared. I'll be going, as well, with the  _Normandy_ , we'll make them pay..."

She cannot speak, so she only keeps nodding while her body is racked by terrible dry sobs.  _Make them pay, make them pay, for her and for me,_ _make them pay, make this go away._


	51. Second Best

"Miss Nought. A pleasure to see you again."

"Admiral," Jack not-quite growls, and Shepard by her side not-quite sighs, feeling an urge to elbow her. Some things never change, that's for sure.

Hackett not-quite smiles. "I'd like to commend you on your teaching achievements. Your trainees are going to be a worthy asset for the war effort."

Himself at an exemplary ease, Shepard can feel Jack's annoyance, masking the fear underneath, while the Admiral continues: "I have considered the options for their deployment and decided to assign them as supporting units. They are too valuable to sacrifice their lives, they will be put to better use by protecting the lives of others."

Jack's relief is almost palpable. In response, the white brows rise slightly. "However, there is still the matter of  _your_  assignment."

Hackett makes a poignant pause, and Shepard can feel Jack stiffen, her thought coming across clear:  _He won't let me stay with the kids. The Alliance can't have the likes of me on their precious ships._  She is starting to breathe rapidly because it is happening to her again – someone screwing with her, hurting her, just because they  _can_.

 _Easy, love_. Slightly shifting his weight, Shepard moves closer to her.  _It won't happen again, not on my watch._

Hackett blinks once, then clears his throat. "Given the current state of events, I believe that standard procedures may be... bent for the sake of a greater good. We can create for you a position of a trainer and advisor with authority over your trainees - provided that you are able to comply with the chain of command and follow orders." Not receiving an answer, Hackett tilts his head. "So, what say you, Miss Nought? Are you able to? Will you?"

The sparkle of good-humoured laughter in those blue eyes is now clear enough for Jack to see, and Shepard would bet that the word on her mind right now is ' _fucker_. She scowls at the Admiral. "Of course I can do it, I'm not stupid. Just make sure those orders are not stupid, either."

Hackett clasps his hands before his face as if he wanted to mask something. "Very well then. You are assigned you on board of the  _Lima_. I am sure that you will find Captain Tamara Lotts to your liking."

Once outside the office, Shepard finds himself a target of a vicious jab in the ribs. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"The bastard was having on me and you knew all along!"

He raises his hands in a placating gesture. "Peace, peace. I made a suggestion and he said he would think about it, is all. I  _thought_  he would accept and  _knew_  the moment I saw his face but I couldn't really tell you 'it'll be fine' in front of him."

He quickly evades another jab but when he slides an arm around Jack's waist, she doesn't protest.

"That Captain Lotts," she asks after a while. "You suggested her, too?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

Activating his omnitool, he shows her a picture, and Jack snorts:  _you think that a bit of ink will make us best buddies or what?_

He shuts the 'tool, removing the tattoo and piercing and bright red hair. "Captain Lotts had a history with gangs and crime before she joined the Alliance, so she won't be bothered by yours. That's not the main reason why I chose her, though."

Feeling Jack's misgiving, he stops and puts his hands on her shoulders. "The main reason is that she is fiercely loyal. She never, ever, leaves her people behind. She's the second best you can get when I can't be there myself."

He gets a kiss, without the usual load of swearwords.


	52. In A Way of Goodbye

Shepard is putting on his hardsuit: the dull dark grey, the N7 emblem, the red and white stripe on his arm. The sight is grating on Jack, and not just because Shepard is leaving whereas the  _Lima_  won't be ready to depart for about ten more hours. Irritated, she finally blurts: "Must you be wearing that Alliance crap? You look like some fucking poster boy."

Looking up, Shepard's eyes reflect the cold light. "That's exactly the idea," he replies softly. "It's actually Spectre gear, customised in Alliance colours, as a boost for the morale."

"I liked you better in your blue and black," she snorts, feeling as if with the change of colour, she lost a part of Shepard that was hers and hers only. More than ever before, she is sorry for the loss of her own black and blue hardsuit to the Cerberus.

Shepard checks and holsters his gun and takes his helmet under his arm. "Will you see me off to the docks?"

Loath to stay and loath to go, she gets up reluctantly, only to find herself swept in his arms. "Hey. Don't sulk."

His body against hers is plastic and metal and ceramic plating, and his face is the only part that she can touch.  _Shepard_...

Fervently, she presses her lips onto his, drinking at him, melding, heating. The helmet falls to the floor.

They are both out of breath when she finally lets go. "I hope your Spectre gear has enough space to accommodate your thermal clip," she gasps, sneering. Pulling away, she smooths her hair and grabs her jacket. "So, let's get going. What are you waiting for?"

"You'll be the death of me," he mutters, with a half-hearted attempt to slap her ass, but he laughs the whole way to the docks as she keeps teasing him, to see him look the way he used to before, while not letting herself think for a single instant that this may be the last she ever sees of him.

As they emerge from the lift in the docking area, holding their hands and kissing every now and then, there appears a distraction. "The hell is  _she_  doing here?"

Shepard looks at the figure in blue waiting next to the Normandy's airlock, and rolls his eyes. "Probably going to deliver another 'sorry-for-not-trusting-you-won't-happen-again' talk, just like she did when I came to see her in hospital. Hoping for mere 'good bye' would be too much, I guess."

"Enjoy yourself," Jack snaps, and a profound kiss only half-appeases her, along with the thought that by now, the bitch must have spotted them already.

"Go check the bedroom," Shepard whispers in her ear. "I left there something for you."

"Besides your cum?" she sneers and makes a show of striding away, only to hide behind the corner and watch Shepard's exchange with Ashley.

Seeing the bitch storm away improves her mood a wee bit, on her way back.

The apartment feels overwhelmingly empty without Shepard, and she enters the bedroom almost shyly. The box on the bed has the Spectre logo, and she knows what's inside even before opening it.

Black and blue, the best that the Citadel space can offer. She runs a shaking hand over it, then over her eyes.  _Shepard..._

Then, with a devilish grin, she places her omnitool on the bedside table and turns on the recording. Her clothes fall off in no time but the hardsuit she puts on slowly; stroking, caressing, exposing. When she's done, she ponders writing 'nsfw' as a subject, but then sends the recording with mere 'thanks'.


	53. New Place, New Ways

The  _Lima_ is daunting.

It's so different from the Academy, big but cramped and full of towering bulky marines, and Ela Rodriguez feels completely lost. Desperately, she yearns for the familiarity, the safety of the old days... but Miss Sanders and everyone else stayed on the Citadel, and now it's just her and the other kids, and Miss Nought.

Miss Nought, though, never has to step aside for the marines in the corridor, they step aside for  _her._

When she's not around, the kids mostly stick to their quarters, or to each other.

The mess hall is the worst, the line between 'us' and 'them' clearly drawn, with all the looks and remarks, and Ela's stomach is so constricted that she could barely digest a thing even if the food was not so  _unappetizing_. Remembering Mrs Klostermann's desserts, she drives her spoon into the unidentifiable mass on her plate, when, suddenly, the skin on her neck pricks:  _someone is approaching from behind._ Her chair squeaks as a marine leans on its back, over her and Yan.

"So, what's your name, baby doll?" he asks, closing in.

"Leave her alone," Jason intervenes but the marine barely spares him a glance: a pup against a man, no match.

"Just getting acquainted," he grins, drawing his mass even closer, his hand, heavy, resting on Ela's shoulder -

The next thing she knows, she is standing and the marine is sprawled a few metres away, among cups and plates and overturned chairs; her corona is still glowing, the dark energy flowing through her, crackling around her fingertips. "The last guy who tried to grab me had his head smashed like a mellon," she hears herself say, and the first time since, the memory of the red pool spreading under the black helmet doesn't fill her with revulsion. The monster is  _gone_ , and that is what matters.

After a moment of stunned silence, some marines start rising from their chairs, their knocked comrade is sitting up, shaking his head in bafflement, his face contorting in fury -

"'The hell is going on here?" The man in the doorway speaks in a seemingly leisured tone but Rodriguez can sense the air of authority, and menace.

"Nothing, Sarge," replies a petite marine with a sharp nose in her dark face, with an equally false leisure. "Kennedy just slipped on some coffee, is all." Unphased by a piercing look, she turns to the man on the floor. "Must have wiped it with his ass, right?"

The Sergeant's green eyes slowly move from face to face until they centre on Ela. Heat rushes into her face and she cannot breathe.

"What she said, Sir," Yan pipes in beside her. "It was an accident."

"Right," confirms another marine behind them. "Right, Kennedy? Only an idiot would start something with biotics, right?"

"Right," the man mutters finally. "An accident."

"An accident." The Sergeant folds his arms on his chest. "Ten more rounds in the training, Kennedy. We can't have our marines so sloppy. And clear away the mess."

When the Sergeant leaves, the mess hall collectively breathes out.

"Never mind Forge," says the sharp-nosed marine, "he's a tough son of a bitch but he's alright. - By the way, the name's Dodger, Elissa."

"Rodriguez. Ela." Still dazed, she mechanically shakes the offered hand. Yan's jubilant face is floating before her eyes, and Jason's, and another marine is congratulating her on a nice job... and behind them, where Sergeant Forge had stood, there is now Miss Nought, smiling and nodding approvingly.


	54. Dislikes

"D.J. Forge," the Sergeant introduces himsef - a model marine, with short hair, fine muscle, a scar here and there, good with a gun and good in a fight...

_Strong. Fast. Capable._

_A walking muscle with an ego the size of his dick._

Jack dislikes him instantly as he holds her hand a thousandth of a second longer than he should.

She almost wishes for the time when she'd have told him to fuck off, and perhaps added a shockwave for a good measure.

His green eyes gleam as if he sensed some of what is going through her head, and she dislikes him even more for that.

_Self-assured. Perceptive._

_A fucking cocksure Alliance bastard._

Especially, she dislikes him whenever he is right.

"Let her handle," he prevents her from storming into the mess hall wreaking havoc when she sees a marine bullying Rodriguez, and then, "Let me," and pacifies the crew in no time. He is right about about her kids' strength and weaknesses and he is right about the specifics of training them together with the marines, and, damn, she totally dislikes him when the sheen of perspiration enhances his musculature and the sweated T-shirt clings to his chest.

_Just the hots from adrenaline,_ she keeps reminding herself, and dislikes Forge for that even more.

In hindsight, she should have expected that she wouldn't be let to get away with it.

"What's your beef with me?" he accosts her in the corridor when there's no-one close.

She jerks her shoulder to tell him -

_\- fuck off, dick -_

_\- the fuck is none of your business -_

_\- the fuck you're seeing things -_

There was a time when she would have. She also would have made her move and fucked him senseless if she felt like it, or smashed his head if he as much as laid a finger on her when she was not in the mood.

Before, she woud have.

"Look, I... " she hears herself say. "It's nothing. You just... remind me of someone."

_Perceptive. Attentive._

Her throats tightens so much that she cannot finish.

"Ah. I see," Forge says slowly, and without a single trace of mockery. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Shit, not your fault," she says, and her voice comes out thicker than she would have wanted.

"These things happen," he agrees. "So, we're good?"

"We're good," Jack nods, though she still feels inclined to dislike him at least a wee bit.

He chuckles. "How about some sparring, to clear your head then? But be warned, when I spar, I don't care if you're a guy or lady."

She plants her hands in her sides because she sure as hell doesn't want any sympathies from him. "I'll kick your sorry ass. I'm no fucking lady, you know."

A grin. "I sure noticed. And I mean it as a compliment."

"I'll stuff that back in your throat," she growls but without venom. Nonetheless, the sight of his split lip later on makes her definitely feel warm.

Bantering on their way to the cargo bay, she is finally able to look at him and not see Shepard, but at night, her bed is still cold and empty.


	55. Essentials

She is intruding but she cannot help; there are too few memories, and time even less. Pressing her hand on the door panel, Kahlee Sanders enters David's apartment.

The size overwhelms her, just like before, making her feel doubly unwelcome. She doesn't know the details of the arrangement with Shepard, she is quite sure that the Commander wouldn't mind her presence, it is the place itself that has that effect on her. The flat was not designed for the man but for the post of a Councillor, and just like David, she feels best in that small guestroom where she can feel connected to him, one last time. She runs her hand over his books and audios, sits on his bed, runs her hand over the pillow where their heads had rested.

 _So much time wasted, so little left_.

After Grayson's attack on the Academy, she called on David exactly twice. Then the Reapers came, and that was the end to the little dreams of life together that she was starting to nourish.

With a sigh, she gets up and smooths the blankets. There is only one more thing to do but she keeps postponing it in its finality. Instead, she roams through the flat, noticing the small signs of another's presence. An N7 hoodie over the back of an armchair, a pile of PDAs scattered on the coffee table. An untidy heap of clothes with a black leather jacket on the top, a smear of lipstick on a towel. The big waterbed in the main bedroom _very_ untidy – Kahlee finds herself half blushing, half giggling, and then both feelings blend into a small pang of envy, for which she immediately scolds herself. She should be happy for Jack and her Commander, for what little they may have before the end.

The thoughts of Jack revive the memory of their last meeting, in the docks as they were boarding the _Lima_. The kids were flocked together, pale and wide-eyed, the smiles and jokes coming forced. Some were even on the verge of tears when hugging her, Jack last of them. "Take care over there while we do some ass-kicking," she said but her eyes were no less scared than the kids'. It was a different fear, though, Kahlee understood: one that she shared, looking at the boys and girls whom she had known almost all their lives, wondering if she would ever see them again.

"You too," she replied simply, "all of you. I'll be waiting for you."

Jack's face contorted for a moment. "I'll keep them alive," she muttered thickly. "I _will_."

Kahlee could only hug her tightly in response.

Then they were gone, and Kahlee feels alone, even though she still has her techies to join in their assignment to the Crucible team. She likes all her students, she does, but over the years, she has come to realize that the biotics are dearest to her. The techies usually came to the Academy later in their lives, and they had a _choice_.

All in all, they were Vincent's kids more than hers.

But Vincent is gone, just like most people and most things in her life.

Kahlee makes the bed and when she wants to put the clothes away, she finds out that although the waterbed has seen quite some use, the Commander and Jack occupy another small bedroom next to David's as their own.

It brings a smile to her lips and moisture to her eyes, and she finally feels up to what she came for. She goes to the bathroom to wash her face, and from the cabinet, retrieves the overnight bag with her initials: a present from David, the only that is left.

As she leaves the lavish apartment, it feels empty; the only content of value she is holding in her hand.


	56. Suited For War

"Shepard."

"Grunt. Good to see you." The tank-bred krogan has acquired a collection of new scars since Shepard last saw him, as well as airs of command: the war apparently suits him.

"Heh. Good to have you here, too. We've got some nice tough fighting to do, I keep losing scouts down in those tunnels. Ass-kicking time now, just as your bondmate likes. Is she with you?"

"She's –" _not my bondmate_ , Shepard is about to say but then realizes that she _is_ , formalities notwithstanding. "She's on an assignment of her own – she's training and supervising young biotics."

An amused rumble. "A worthy task, but I suspect she's having much less fun than she would like to. Pity she couldn't come along, she'd be enjoying herself. Punches and the like, you know."

"Yeah, pity," Shepard agrees non-committedly, perfectly schooling his face and posture. Grunt was one of the last team members to leave the Normandy on Omega, and even back then, developed an unkroganly subtle way of hinting at Shepard's swollen nose at every opportunity.

The toothed reptilian grin goes wider and Shepard resists the urge to grit his teeth. "Nothing like a good biotic punch," he says, projecting 'don't fuck with me', because whatever gonads Grunt may have grown, Shepard will have none of it.

Grunt laughs out loud and his clawed hand falls heavily, and affectionately, on Shepard's shoulder. "Battlemaster. You wouldn't begrudge me a little fun, would you?"

"As long as I can stuff it up your arse."

"You're welcome any time." Grunt gives him a pat but Shepard expects it and doesn't buckle in the least. "Now, off to work, shall we. Heh, heh."

Laughing for himself, the krogan leads the way and Shepard cannot help but think how much he has grown to resemble Wrex whom he had never met... and if he will ever have the chance to live at least as long as Wrex did.

The next hours of fighting in the Reaper-infested tunnels strain the chances of Grunt's survival to the limits, as well as Shepard's own. His team is covered in goo and blood from head to toe and running low on ammo, and there seems no end to the tunnels, tunnels, tunnels. Encountering the imprisoned rachni queen talking through dead corpses seems actually a nice familiar sight, for a change.

The respite is brief, though, and when they are finally nearing an exit and escape, their way is blocked by ravagers swarming all over the place. Shepard looks around, trying to make his tired brain come up with something, anything, because if he doesn't, they are all goners... or just one of them.

There is no choice, no time to dwell on what might have been. He takes a breath but as he is about to step out, Grunt's massive arm blocks his way. "Go get out of here, Shepard, I'll hold them off. Your bondmate would have my balls if I came back without you."

A brief touch on the shoulder is all the situation allows for.

Shepard doesn't think that his private parts would be in danger for leaving Grunt behind but he is immensely relieved to see the bloodied krogan limp out of the cavern, anyway.


	57. Nothing Much Besides The Reapers

Her son is sitting before her, there's just a tiny table between them, but Hannah feels as if he was in another galaxy.

She won't have this.

Resolutely, she puts down her coffee ans Connor, spping his, glances at her. His eyes are sunk in deep shadows.

"What's up?" she asks.

What's up besides the Reapers, worlds burning and peoply dying by thousands and millions?

The neon light sparkles on his hair, catching a thread of silver on his temple. As he turns his head slightly, the shadows around his eyes deepen and the cheekbones protrude.

In nondescript civilian clothes, he could be anyone – just another man burdened by that which is about to crush them all.

A man. Her son.

Her son downs his coffee and smiles faintly. "You mean, besides the Reapers and Cerberus and the like? Nothing much, I guess."

Under her pointed look, he shrugs apologetically and rubs his face. "Sorry, mom. 'Been keeping the Cerberus dogs off a bunch of civilians and haven't quite caught up with sleep yet." Finally, his smile reaches his eyes. "Wouldn't miss your time on the Citadel, though."

She smiles back, pushing aside the thought how Cerberus replenish their ranks these days, and reaches over the table to clasp his hands. "Nor would I."

Yet, the conversation remains stilted – not much happening, besides the Reapers, and Hannah is unwilling to give them any more time than they have already taken.

Besides, there is a topic she would much like to brooch, anyway, and so she delves into it headfirst. "Son, anything you would like to tell me?"

Connor slightly clears his throat and gives her a sidelong look, trying to establish if she means what he thinks she does. Of course she does, the military is one big gossip ground for anything that is not labelled as classified.

For a moment, her son seems to be considering whether to tell or not, but then he realizes, just like when he was a teenager, that confessing is always the right choice when mother knows already. "Yeah, mom... I guess you have heard. I'm with someone."

 _Someone_. How efficient to cover quite a few pages of rather peculiar dossier. Hannah has to bite her lip not to burst out laughing. "Yes?" she says encouragingly.

But the Commander has already conquered the teenager. "I love her. The rest you know already."

 _Tsk._ "Not from you, son."

And so he tells her. Of solitude and pity that grew into something more, till even the woman herself grew into something more.

Hannah finds herself holding back her breath every now and then. "I'd like to meet her..."

Connor _blushes._

 _Well, son, you're not the only one keeping tabs on the_ Lima _'s arrival._ "...some day. Pity I am leaving so soon, I have to return on my ship now," she continues smoothly, and untruly, to Connor's apparent relief.

Tailing her son on his way to the docks is an easy task – striding ever faster, he pays little attention, and his gait is way livelier than when he met her at the café.

The tattooed girl exits the ship among the last. There is a profound kiss and then she slaps Connor's chest and says something that makes him laugh relaxedly. They leave, hand in hand, talking and laughing. After a few steps, her arm wraps around his waist and his around hers.

Hannah finally sighs with relief. As long as the woman can make her son laugh like that, she doesn't care about the extent of tattoes or criminal record.


	58. Asleep

Shepard is asleep.

Shepard is asleep, and Jack doesn't quite know how to feel about it.

It's not like she hasn't seen – even watched - him asleep before, it's just the unusual angle.

Shepard is asleep with his head in her lap.

" _You look like shit_ ," Jack blurted in a way of greeting when they met in the docks, and the way he laughed at that washed away some of the marks of exhaustion in his face, for a while.

They bought some takeaway food as they were walking through the Silversun, holding their hands, and settled with it on the huge sofa before the screen to watch the news. Shepard sprawled with a relieved grunt, and after some good-natured squabbling, squirming and wiggling when she complained that he was taking up too much space, he ended up with his head on her lap instead of a pillow. She protested only half-heartedly as the weight was not unpleasant... and then he nodded off, with her left hand on his chest and covered with his right.

Jack watches him, the solid outline of his chest and arms, the ever-growing stubble, the relaxed lips. She has seen it all, knows it all. She has seen him high and low, strained and smiling, fighting, dancing, laughing, bleeding, hurting... She has no idea what it is that she is seeing now.

Of its own volition, her right reaches to his head, while her heart flutters.

 _Shepard_.

She leans closer, her fingertips moving so gently in his hair.

_His head_

_Cradled in my lap_

_Like a child_

She startles. _What?_ _Where did this come from? Why..._ Her head is spinning.

There is no time to ponder, though, because Shepard startles, as well, and wakes. "Gosh, I fell asleep?" He rubs his eyes.

"Yeah. I bet you have a stiff neck now. Don't you wanna move to your bed?"

"The sight of your face is worth a little stiffness," he says softly but does sit up. He yawns and shakes his head. "But I guess you're right. I just, uh, sorry but I think I'm too tired to -"

"Alright, alright, I'll destroy you in the morning," Jack waves her hand carelessly, still distracted by the weird train of thought that her mind has taken. _What was it?_ She has never thought in such a way before, and she doesn't know why it is affecting her so strongly.

Shepard must be sensing some of her inner turmoil because he suddenly draws in for a kiss, and she feels like melting, lit by an urge that has nothing to do with sex.

Unasked, she follows him to the bedroom and lies down with him. In her arms, Shepard falls asleep again almost immediately but she stays awake, her breath hitching every now and then.

She has finally figured out what that weird thing was.

 _Poetry_.

The first time in her life, poetry not stemming from hurt but happiness.


	59. Messages and Meanings

She's rather disconcerted in the morning, her thoughts weirdly disorganized. Lines come to her with almost every thought or move, some silly, some making her tremble inside, and she feels as if her brain was about to explode.

She gets up before Shepard and roams around the flat aimlessly for a while. When he finally emerges from the bedroom, he finds her crouched in an armchair, scribbling frantically on a datapad and snapping whenever addressed, so he wisely retreats to the study to check on his messages.

Jack keeps jotting down frantically, flowing on the feelings and words, until Shepard returns to disturb her again. "Jack… could you come over for a moment?"

"Yeah," she mutters without excitement but already mildly more inclined to communicate than before, now that the pressure on her brain has been somewhat relieved. "What's so fu-"

Turns out, the vid transmission is on. Turns out, there's some older woman on the screen: short grey hair, grey eyes, broad jaw, navy blues.

 _Oh, fuck,_ she thinks, and then, _y_ _ou're_ dead _, Shepard_ , until she realizes it's not a live transmission but a recorded message.

The prospective corpse clears his throat. "Mom wanted me to play you this."

Jack finds herself gaping as Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard says:

" _Hello, dear. I'm sorry that we cannot meet in person but it seems that coordinating three people's schedules is rather problematic these days and I bet that when the two of you are together, you can find better things to do than obliging to some old-fashioned conventions, anyway. So, I guess we just meet when we do."_ She leans closer to the camera. " _Meanwhile... keep an eye on this son of mine because Commander or not, he's male and as such he needs someone sensible to look after him."_ A pause, and a smile. _"And when we do meet, please call me Hannah."_

Jack stares at the screen even after the message is over. When she finally closes her mouth, she reaches her hand and plays it again, only half-listening to the words. _Shepard looks like his mother a lot_ , she realizes. He even has her smile, even though it is currently rather sour. She figures out that he might not have caught the _real_ message, and the thought amuses her.

"I think I like your mother, dumbass," she smiles, and mercilessly squashes his relief even before it settles in. "You really ought to pull some strings and arrange us a meeting."

Seeing his expression, she bursts out laughing and is definitely not going to admit that she is not actually allthat eager to meet _Mamma_ Shepard just yet. And so she starts kissing him instead, which produces the expected response.

As they lie down, she pulls him tight to her, holds onto him with her arms and legs.

 _Be there for my son. He needs you_.

Of course she will.


	60. Losing

The purplish blue sky, the light breeze in the warm air... a fine, lazy day.

All of it fake, of course, but still better than most of the days.

Shepard finishes his beer and tosses the can with a wicked twist. It disappears in a small explosion, anyway, and the clicking of the mandibles by his side sounds very self-satisfied.

"You're one late," Shepard teases.

"You're one ahead of the schedule," Garrus retorts, unperturbed.

"Oh, come on. Just admit it, Vakarian – you can't keep up."

"Pah." The turian vocal chords seem to possess multiple ways to sound condescending. "Keep dreaming, Shepard."

Shepard lies back, watching the artificial sky. Tiny sparkles, like stars in daylight, mark the ships leaving the Citadel. One such spark took Jack away, and it seems like ages since he watched her leave. He doesn't need to close his eyes to see her smile once again.

Garrus finishes his can of the Turian version of beer and sends it flying, and Shepard takes it down with just a little more effort than usually, but Garrus notices nonetheless and his mandibles move in the characteristic grin. "The moment of truth is coming soon."

Shepard eyes the last two remaining cans. "Don't you say."

They strip the lids and toast to each other. The Praesidium square far, far below them seems insignificant; here, at the top of the tower, the galaxy and its worries belong to another world, and another time.

They slowly sip their respective beers in comfortable silence. "So, how about that lady you hooked up with yesterday?" Shepard asks with mild curiosity. "What was her name?"

"Vixeria," Garrus replies slowly, and something in his voice makes Shepard turn to him.

The blue stare, unfathomable, meets his and then diverts to the sky. "She was a fine company," Garrus replies at the long last.

Unsure where the twist of conversation is heading, Shepard says non-committally, "Good to hear. Perhaps you might meet her again."

"Perhaps."

The beer prompts Shepard to make some silly comment on reach and flexibility, but he bites his tongue just in time, before Garrus turns to him again. "Shepard... how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

A long pause. "Commitment."

 _Commitment_. _What a weird word to put it._

Memories of Jack flood his mind, unbidden but not unwelcome. "I never planned that," he says. "It just... happened."

"Of course, such things can hardly be planned. That is not what I meant, though. What I find hard to grasp is... how do you manage to be committed both to a cause and to a person?"

At a loss, Shepard waves the can. "I just... am?"

Garrus gives him a long look, then meticulously drinks from his beer. He doesn't make a sound, not even a subvocal one. The air as if chilled.

"I don't know," Shepard admits softly. He downs the content of the can in one long gulp. "But I know I'd sure get mad if I stopped to think, to worry..." He weighs the can in his hand. "When you're sniping, you don't waste your time worrying, either. You're just there, at that one single moment, and focus on the best. - Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

The can goes in a sparkle of light. In silence, Garrus empties the last target.

 _Now or never_.

And Shepard takes care to miss.

The turian glee is overwhelming and Shepard finds his difficult to feign the appropriate expression. "Yeah, man. You're the best shot on the Citadel. In the Citadel space. In all the known space. All hail Garrus Vakarian who bested Commander Shepard!"

Garrus hooks his arm around his shoulders. "You're the second best," he says generously. "No-one can beat Shepard and Vakarian!"

"No-one," Shepard agrees. The thoughts of Commander Shepard losing Jack, or to the Reapers, or both, are for the night hours of doubts and fears, not for now.

The two best shots pick up their gear and walk over to the skycar, so that Bailey's guys could finally stop looking the other way.


	61. Not A Kid

On a ship full of people, she is all alone.

Alone with a past. Alone left.

Back at the Academy, Yan didn't feel it so strongly: at first, the grief was too fresh, and the sympathy offered was welcome. The _Lima_ is a new world, though, a new life to which everyone is adjusting, while Yan's past is holding her back, recurring in every conversation when someone remembers, stops in mid-sentence, casts a side glance.

 _Poor Yan._ _We must tiptoe around her_.

And she wants to scream.

Everyone has lost someone to the Reapers, but only she is Yan the Parentless.

Before, she would have confided to Ela, or perhaps Kitty, but Kitty is dead and Ela has changed into someone who is no longer doe-eyeing Jason without him knowing, and Yan is the odd one now, even more alone.

She is the odd one, always will, even though Miss Nought switches and rotates them in the duty rosters regularly. Being paired with Miss Nought herself, once her dream, doesn't help, either: Miss Nought, always so striking and fascinating, like a black pantheress whom Yan once saw in the Arcturus zoo, is absolutely stunning these days. Yan knows why it is, and it repels her with a mixture of curiosity and envy that she doesn't quite grasp.

Odd one, always the odd one.

And so she roams the _Lima_ 's corridors, replying with an empty smile to all those "hey, kid" from the passing-by marines, and although it is said with affection, it still has her seething inside. _I'm not a kid. I am eighteen and I fight the Reapers. I am... I want..._

"Hey, kid! What are you doing down here, you got lost?" Elissa Dodger emerges from the engineering and gives Yan the same smile as everyone: _our biotic kids, our mascots._ Yan knows Dodger from the trainings quite well, even likes her – slim and not very tall, just like Yan herself, with warm brown skin and warm brown eyes – but it is one prick too many.

"My name is Yan," she snaps.

Dodger raises her brow. "Well, yeah, I know," she replies, and for some reason, it makes Yan feeling better. "You wanted something here?"

"No, just roaming." When Dodger continues walking, Yan joins her while Dodger indulges her with the details of some bet that she has made with the engineers.

As they near the living quarters, Yan comes to a resolution. "When we land somewhere... you got any plans?"

"Not really, I -" Dodger pauses to give her a look, then stops altogether. Her face quickly changes several expressions, her eyes become wary. "Damn," she mutters. "Damn. You _are_ asking me what I think you are, right?"

Yan is not sure herself what it is that she is asking, but says: "Yeah, is it a problem?"

Dodger glances if there is no-one around. "Look," she says softly and a bit nervously, "no-one enforces certain rules that much these days but this comes directly from the Captain, not to mention what Jack Nought would do if... We are not supposed to, you know..." Dodger bites her lip.

 _She has nice lips_ , Yan realizes, _not too full, not too thin. Nice._

When Yan looks up, she sees in Dodger's eyes what she wants to see. "How old are you?"

"Twenty four."

"It's not so much more than eighteen," she ponders quietly. _I may not live twenty four, though._

Dodger clears her throat. "It is not," she agrees. After a moment, she says: "You know... when we get back to the Citadel, there is this bowling bar. The two of us and perhaps Eriksson and Abadi... yeah, and Henders. Would that be okay with you?"

"I would like that very much... Elissa."

"Looking forward to, Yan." The older woman smiles and briefly touches her hand before she leaves.

Yan sinks against the wall in relief. _People who don't_ know _. Finally. Finally._


	62. Never Ever

_**A/N** : A little silliness for the New Year's Eve. Happy new year, everyone!_

* * *

"Never ever have I ridden a Mako." Addison's contribution receives disappointed hoots but everyone is happy to drink, anyway.

"Never ever have I ridden an asari," Kennedy throws in, taking a swig.

Everybody else abstains: the Alliance guys seem to be mostly conservative. Jack abstains, as well: _never could stand the blue bitches much_. She briefly ponders continuing with the alien sex but reconsiders. "Never ever have I shaved my cunt."

The female half of the group drinks; everyone sensible does if they spend hours in the hardsuit.

"Sexist," Forge snorts.

"Oh, come on, Sarge, do tell us how you shaved your cock," Fahaddi grins, "or shall I?"

"Not your turn," Forge remains unphased. "Never ever have I got laid in the engineering." Several people drink, including himself.

"So that's why we had that malfunction the other day," Yankowich, the main engineer, growls.

"Didn't say it was on the _Lima_ ," Forge shrugs and offers a poker face to disbelieving whistles.

"Never ever have I walked on someone wanking," Bertinelli continues.

"Never ever have I _joined_ someone wanking!"

"Never ever have I fucked someone whose name I cannot remember."

"Never ever have I fucked someone in front of someone else."

"Never ever have I..."

The sex trip takes its predictable course towards bizzare. Fahaddi is laughing so hard that she chokes on her drink and Kennedy has to slap her back, which provokes even more dirty comments. Jack is more careful, or perhaps, due to her biotics, less drunk. Even so, the silliness makes her feel light-headed: who would have thought that she would get on with the Alliance fucks so fabulously?

Definitely not herself, but after a couple of successful missions, both her and the kids have blended in as if they were made for this. A lot of it is definitely Forge's work, she has to give him credit for that: he handles the marines with the ease of a puppet master pulling strings.

 _And Shepard's._ He _found us such a good ship,_ he _made sure that the kids have been assigned to a relatively safe task._

 _Shepard, Shepard_.

The warmth in her stomach is not just due to the alcohol. At a moment like this, all fears are forgotten.

Jack raises her glass. _Never ever have I loved a Commander_ , she thinks and drinks for herself.


	63. Concepts

His omnitool chirps just as he is drifting towards sleep.

For a moment, Shepard is inclined to pull the blanket over his head and ignore it but at this hour, it can only be an emergency, or personal.

_Damn, if it's another of Joker's Fornax spams…_

It is not. He has to blink several times, though, before the single line of Jack's message starts making sense: _'That Ashley bitch – you two fucked?'_

His first impulse is to leave this for the morning but then he recalls Jack's look when he mentioned seeing Ash in hospital, and reconsiders. He gets out of the bed and splashes his face with cold water before he replies: ' _No. Why?'_

' _Ran into her in a bar. Tried to trash-talk me, and nosied about us fucking. You said she was a_ friend _, not an ex.'_

_Was one, not the other, and now is neither,_ Shepard thinks, remembering the last exchange which resulted in Ashley's assignment to Hackett's team instead of the _Normandy_. _"If you mean that there is no place for me on the Normandy because of your tattooed…_ friend… _just say so, Shepard_ ," Ash told him with an ugly pout, and the way she said _friend_ as if she meant _slut_ brought Shepard right back to that moment when his finger was tense on the trigger.

' _Never mind her, she's just butt-hurt jealous, though she has no right to,'_ he replies to Jack, and as an afterthought adds _, 'you in trouble?'_

' _I neverminded her across the bar,'_ comes exactly the reply that he feared _, 'but Bailey fixed that. Had a look at the security camera recording and said that she had it coming, and that there was no reason to fuss as nothing really happened. I'm okay, I just wanted to know where we stand, dumbass.'_

' _I love you,'_ he replies, and chuckles at the pepper-dirty response _. 'I'll hold you to that. Take care meanwhile.'_

' _You too, dumbass. Just tell Miss Bitch to keep outta my way.'_

_Will do,_ Shepard thinks, and for the sake of the od times, starts with _Dear Ashley_ , but then shakes his head _. Nope. Enough is enough, Ash. You never, ever listen, and now we're through._

_Dear Lieutenant-Commander,_

_In future, please refrain from harassing my..._

He comes to a halt. _Bondmate_ is the word that comes to his mind first but Ash would only sneer at such a display of _alien influence_. _Girlfriend_ doesn't even start to cover what Jack means to him, and it sounds stupid.

_My..._

He sits motionless. Struggling with his feelings is nothing new to him and neither is struggling with words. Struggling with concepts is a whole new world to him.

At the long last, he types almost shyly: _...my future wife_.

He finishes the message with _Thank you for your time, Commander. C. Shepard_ , sends it with a brusque tap of finger, and lies down with his hands behind his head.

_My wife_.

Of all the missions, one he has no idea how to accomplish, but he is sure that will come up with something eventually. For the time being, it helps him to fall asleep without nightmares.


	64. Unwritten

Hi, Jack

Hi, wife

Hey, wifey

Hey, kinky inky

_Hello, Jack,_

I miss you like hell

and that big bed, as well

in which I want to make you yell

\- how do you like my rhyming? :D

_I had a hilarious evening, so I thought I might share 'cause I bet you'll love this._

_Earlier, the C-Sec contacted me about our friend Grunt – turned out, he had recovered from krogan chops just fine, got bored in hospital and his pals came to rescue him. As you can imagine, the hospital has seen better days._

_After that, they went celebrating and picked the krogan monument at the Praesidium as a point to highlight, which the C-Secs weren't happy about, and neither was their car about the contact with a bottle of ryncol. Needless to say, Grunt was the boss, and they caught up with him only in a noodle bar when he got hungry, and that's where I come in. Grunt made a nice apology and I settled the bill, and while I was at it, I asked the officer for a copy of the camera recordings, to keep the krogan in check. Luckily, Grunt had enough common sense to wish me to "enjoy the show" only after the C-Secs had left, and I did – see for yourself :-) I guess that you will agree that it is an awesome boost for the morale!_

_Which is why I decided to keep it for later use, when some major shit hits the fan, like now. You see, the quarians didn't know any better than to try and retake their homeworld right now, and got their noses bloodied, which means that to enlist their help, we need to get them out of that mess first. And, the mess is the said shit because the geth are working with the Reapers now and have some upgrades which make them smarter. So, the boost – and also a little celebration of a reunion with Tali. BTW, A_ dmiral _Tali now, which is the first sensible decision the quarians have made so far._

_Anyway, EDI arranged for us a home cinema in my quarters and Traynor brought some drinks, which turned out a bit of a trouble because Tali almost choke on hers and her levo-dextrin equivalent of popcorn got stuck in the duct of her suit. She had to leave to clean it, and now it comes – make sure you are seated! - two hours later when I dropped by the engineering, I found her at a_ very _close range with Garrus, supposedly still clearing that duct. Now, I never knew that a face mask could blush, but I swear Tali's did. Those two have always been on friendly terms but I sure never imagined that they might get this close!_

Which brings me to us being close, and I

And since the two of us are more than just a little close

Speaking of close, I

You know, this got me thinking

And this brings me to something I'd like to ask you

Damn, Jack, just marry me, alright?

_I hope the next time on the Citadel, we can arrange some fun for ourselves, too. Heard about that Armax arena? I recently got an invite, would you like to come?_ We could have a dinner afterward, and I

I love you

_C'ya_

_S._

Human correspondence has always provided plenty of insight for EDI, but until now she never realized how meaningful the deleted parts could be.


	65. The Count

The mission is FUBAR, that's for sure, and it's about the only thing that Forge can be sure about. Mission objectives? Chain of command? South, north, right, left?

The comm is a mess of screams, requests of assistance, cursing, unintelligible orders, gunfire, explosions, growling, hissing, rumbling, and his own heavy breath. Dirt, smoke and flashes of blinding light, crumbling walls where there was a shelter just moments ago, and craters where there was solid ground; soil and air exchanging places and stars shooting where they're not supposed to be. The support teams are still holding out but in between, the line is broken and the fuckers are virtually everywhere – husks, marauders, cannibals, as well as things Forge hasn't seen before, even something like fucking _dragons..._

Forge's head is swimming and his ribs have seen better days. Diving headfirst into a fresh crater, he sends a short round into a cannibal that had the same idea. Followed by Kennedy, he makes for another crater, for the wall... they are dead if they stop moving, and he is unsure how long they still might be able to.

His eardrums nearly burst with sudden "Yippie I oooooh!" at maximum volume, by which Wakoiga "Ghostrider" Njeri announces the arrival of the air support, not a moment too soon.

With the fight momentarily over, both Forge and Kennedy slump where they stand, unsure how it comes that they still live.

"Fuck," the marine comments, "fuck."

It never ceases to amaze Forge how many meanings Kennedy can convey with that single word, as in, 'never trust turian intel when it says _not many_ ', but time is of essence now. "Get your ass moving," he prods the marine with his elbow, "we're leaving." _Count the dead and the living, and then carry on._ Forge allows himself the luxury of briefly closing his eyes before he gets up: he _hates_ the place, the ruins of a turian city, alien and familiar at the same time, _hates_ the sight of all the corpses, some of them so disturbingly tiny.

 _Carry on_.

Henders and Addison are supporting each other, Mayakovski is carrying Lieutenant Fahaddi's headless body. Dodger is helping that tiny biotic, Zhang, and Prangley follows them on unsteady feet. Eriksson just shakes her head. _Count the living, count the dead..._

"Rodriguez! _Rodriguez!_ You hear me? Respond!" Distinct in her non-Alliance hardsuit, Jack Nought scrambles over the ruins and heaps of corpses, her voice shriller with each word.

 _Count..._ Forge takes a breath to steady his voice. "Everyone retreat to the LZ. Before they come back in force. You too, Nought."

"No fucking way! I must find her!"

Forge curses, knowing better than to pull rank on her: whatever she might be, she's not good at pretending soldiering. He adresses her on a private frequency: "You will get everyone killed if we wait for you. We must go. _Now._ "

Her eyes which he cannot see through the visor are wild and white. "She held the line here. We had to spread and she was right here, I told her to hold the line – _I_ told her _, I –_ "

Forge has been where she is now too many times. _Carry on._ "One person or many, Jack. That's the way the count goes. We go _now_."

For a moment, he thinks that she will totally lose it. But then she nods, cursing and scanning her surroundings one last time -

With a scream of rage, her biotic corona flares in a blast aimed at a heap of dead cannibals and husks from under which an Alliance boot protrudes.

Rodriguez's life controls glow amber but Forge doesn't waste any more time. Ignoring the hurting ribs, he throws the girl over his shoulder with one hand, then grabs Jack by the arm with the other and doesn't stop until they are safely on board of a shuttle.

Rodriguez comes to, coughing, as they are approaching the _Lima_. "Did we win?" she asks in a thin voice.

 _Did we_? He has no idea, and is too exhausted to care. "We live," he replies instead of Nought who is curled in the corner, irresponsive. "We live."

_We have done the count and carry on, best we can._


	66. Mommy

"Yes, ma'am," Nought responds flatly for an umpteenth time, "no, ma'am."

Every time it means 'fuck you', and Captain Lotts doesn't fail to hear.

"Fuck you, ma'am," she jumps into yet another by-the-book response, and finally sees _something_ of what she has been saying get across. With an inner sigh, she switches into the ways that the woman in front of her will find easier to grasp. She is not happy for that – in fact, resents the regression – but rarely has the luxury of choosing their means. "You almost lost your shit there on Palaven because you have tons of fucking unresolved issues which you keep ignoring and you never had to face any repercussions for your actions – fuck, _keep looking at me_! You'd never ever get _any_ position in the army if things were even remotely normal, no matter how many buddies you have made among the brass, but even when we're chin-deep in shit, we can't afford you to be a liability and get others killed. Understood?"

The woman glowers back but doesn't say a word: doesn't back from the truth when it is finally out.

 _Listening at the long last. Fine_. "You need a therapy but we don't have time for this, even if you were willing to cooperate." Which she won't just yet. Lotts would know, it took her years herself to be able to step back and see the scars of her early life for what they were. "So, to cut the crap: down there you nearly lost it because you were thinking with your ovaries."

Nought gapes at her, and Lotts can almost read the thoughts forming behind her forehead: ' _Ovaries? What ovaries? What are you talking about?'_

 _Ovaries_.

With the antiovulation implants so easily available, the thoughts of the reproduction cycle hardly ever surface. Yet, the instincts are not easily overcome by technology, and certain conditions enhance them.

When she finally sees Nought realize, she lets the silence linger a moment, and now that she has the woman's attention, she returns to the manner of speech that has become hers over the years: "Down there, you were thinking as a mother, not a commanding officer. Such thinking will tear you apart and will get people killed. You must learn not to succumb, or quit. Do you understand?" She leans a bit forward. "This is not personal, this is a matter of survival – your feelings against other people's lives. One person against many."

Knowing that Nought is currently fighting back tears, she gives her a moment to catch her breath and lights an electronic cigarette. She is not happy with this potential liability on the _Lima_ , but she owes Hackett at least that much: to try and make her an asset. She has become one herself, after all.

"Any questions?" she asks after a while.

As expected, Nought takes up the bait. "Your crew calls you Mommy Tammy. How do _you_ do it?"

The cigarette in Lotts' fingers doesn't tremble. "Some always die so that others live. If I lose it, more die. So I don't. I can't. You can't, either." She jabs her cigarette at Nought. "You are strong enough to do what it takes, you just need to learn to understand yourself. What drives you, and why."

A twisted grin. "The ovaries."

Lotts solemnly nods. "The ovaries."

After dismissing Nought, Tamara Lotts gets up and stretches. She extinguishes the cigarette and sits before the console.

The list of the fallen on Palaven is long and it is her task to write to their families that the children died under her command, on her watch, so that others could live a little longer.


	67. Ovaries

' _Shepard_ ,' she types and then deletes the message, over and over, ' _Shepard_ ,' struggling with thoughts and memories.

The chirp of the omnitool startles her. ' _Yep, inky_?'

 _The fuck?!_ For one crazy moments, Jack thinks that Shepard has become telepathic, but then she realizes that she must have tapped 'send' instead of 'delete', subconsciously or not.

_'Jack? Everything alright?'_

_Telepathic indeed_. "Hell, no," she mutters, shaking her head to clear it. _'Yeah,'_ she types. _'Though I nearly screwed.'_ She forces herself to hit 'send', and with shaking hands, continues: _'There was a tough mission on Palaven. I assigned Rodriguez to hold the line, she got overpowered and I couldn't find her. We nearly lost her, and I nearly lost it.'_

 _Because I was thinking with my ovaries_. Captain Lotts' dark eyes are piercing her again, with the look of one knowing all too well.

Jack grits her teeth. _'I'm scared,'_ she types as the virtual screen blurs before her eyes. _'I'm scared that I will get them killed. The kids.'_

_My kids. My children._

Locked in a claustrophobic toilet cabin, she shudders with muffled sobs.

_'Hold on a sec. I'll arrange for the quantum comm.'_

That brings Jack back to her senses. _'Fuck, don't!'_ she replies and wipes her noses. _'Don't you dare bring other people into this,_ _I won't be everyone's laughing stock!_ _'_

_'Alright then, I won't. But you sure you will cope?'_

Breathing deep to calm herself, Jack steadies her fingers. _'I need to ask you something.'_

She can almost hear him sigh. _'Go ahead. Virmire?'_

_'Yeah.'_

The 'tool falls silent for a while. Shepard has told her all about the hunt for Saren, all the plain, rational facts. He never elaborated on how he'd sent his friend to his death, abandoned him to be overpowered, to be consumed in the nuclear blast. It had never occurred to her to ask.

_'The team had to split, and I had to prioritize. No matter what I did, someone would have died. I couldn't have done anything differently. Could you?'_

Her breath hitches. _'No. The line would have broken. But still, it was_ me _who placed her there.'_

 _'I know._ I _sent Kaidan there._ I _did. And it still keeps haunting me. I won't lie to you – sooner or later, someone_ will _die on your watch, on your call, and it won't go away. I just hope that when you wake up in the middle of the night, I will be there to hold you.'_

Jack half-sobs, half-laughs, but the 'tool immediately chirps again _. 'Sryy gotta go emrergency. Ttyl take care'_

And, ' _love you_ '.

Cursing under her breath, Jack leans her head against the door. She remains completely silent while someone enters the restroom and uses the cabin next to hers.

_My kids. Ovaries. Shepard._

Only when she is sure that no-one is around, she emerges. She washes her face and inspects herself critically: her lids are still swollen. She splashes herself with some more cold water, then steps back from the mirror. Her hands slowly slide to her abdomen.

 _Ovaries_.

There was a time when she was considering having them removed, and only her fear of being yet again drugged and dissected on the table prevented her.

She is not ready to assess the consequences of that decision, though, nor what Shepard might want to say about that.


	68. Realisations

The café is half-empty at this time of day, with the usual set of customers – businessmen for a late breakfast, working on their 'tools while sipping a stimulant of choice, an occasional couple or chatting friends, mothers with children hoping for a moment to themselves before yet another urgent demand for mommy comes screaming.

Seeing them, Aethyta sometimes wonders whether she should be sorry or happy to have missed this particular period with her daughter. However, she doesn't allow herself much remorse – she had made her choice, it cannot be undone, and that's the end of it.

What does send a prick of pain is the thought that her daughter may not live to hold a daughter of her own, that no granddaughter will ever climb on Aethyta's lap with a smile of wholehearted love and trust...

Aethyta pours herself a cup of water, downs it and looks over the café for something to occupy herself with. Unfortunately, no-one seems in need of anything and she is left alone with her thoughts, until a pair of new customers finally provides the needed distraction: two human females of unusual looks. The first, older of the two, sports a mane of hair like pale gold, and Aethyta has seen enough human females to be able to tell that the colouring is natural. The woman is wearing the Alliance uniform with low-rank distinctions and Aethyta has no idea who she might be; the other woman is a completely different shell in the sand.*

Aethyta is doing her best to look out for her daughter, which also means gathering information about Liara's associates and friends as well as _their_ associates and friends.

And so she serves human tea to the galactic criminal Jacqueline Nought and her blonde friend and places a bug under the napkin in the basket with croissants and cookies. She activates the receiver in her implant as well as the recording in her omnitool, and soon knows that the blonde is called Kahlee, is assigned on the Crucible project and has something to do with biotics. Aethyta will check on her later, it is Commander Shepard's unofficial bondmate that holds her attention now, for reasons both pragmatic and personal.

She has seen her daughter interact with the Commander more than once and knows that he doesn't see a thing; in her experience, most males don't, regardless of race, but an asari cannot be fooled. And the tattooed woman is at least partly the reason why, of that Aethyta is sure, and since the Commander's wellbeing directly affects that of her daughter... well, it is a loving father's duty not to miss an opportunity when it presents itself.

The next moment, she nearly pours boiling water on her hand. ' _Kahlee... can I ask you... have you ever had children?'_

With a smack near her aural cavity, Aethyta switches off her implant – luckily, none of the customers notice, nor do they see how leaned heavily on the desk for a moment.

When she recomposes, she wipes the spilt water and doesn't even look in the direction of the women any more: she will listen to the recording later, she doesn't want to hear any more right now.

When Jack and Kahlee approach the terminal to pay, an asari mother is just leaving with her daughter in her arms. The child, looking over her shoulder, suddenly grins, attracted by the colour of Kahlee's hair, and reaches her hand for the soft strands. Laughing off the mother's apology, Kahlee lets the child ruffle her hair, and by her looks, Aethyta knows her answer to Jack's question. As she is averting her eyes from the scene, she notices the expression on Jack's face, and recognizes it, as well: a realisation.

One she wore herself after leaving Benezia and Liara.


	69. Deserved

Shepard stares into the box, and the distinctions stare back from their velvet cushion.

The silence lingers, and Hackett's content smile is beginning to freeze. He clears his throat. "I believe your promotion was long overdue, _Captain."_

It was, though given his politically inconvenient claims, his death, his terrorist connections and a system blown up, Shepard doesn't really blame the Alliance – or at least, not for this. In the grand scheme of the Reaper invasion, his promotion doesn't matter, anyway; he is just surprised – shaken to the core, actually – that he doesn't give a shit.

_When did these things cease to matter to me? How? Why?_

To mask how unsettled he is, he pushes the box back to Hackett. "I don't think this is a good idea, Admiral. You know, most people think 'Commander' is my first name, anyway."

Hackett's white eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. The first time in years, Shepard sees him speechless. He would enjoy the sight, if he wasn't feeling so dangerously fragile on the inside.

The Admiral clears his throat again. "This is... rather unexpected, Shepard. Isn't this what you want? What you have always wanted?"

_What do I want?_

"Perhaps," Shepard replies, merely not to give Hackett the time to pry some more, "but now is not a good time, Admiral. People need real good news, not some fancy stuff, and Reapers don't care."

_Yet_ another clearing of throat, which is quickly beginning to get on Shepard's nerves. "I hope you haven't caught a cold, Admiral?" he blurts out more aggressively than necessary. It doesn't help him to feel any better, while Hackett, the bastard, recuperates.

"If achieving to thwart the Reaper plans and obtaining _two_ powerful allies instead of one doesn't count as 'real good news', I don't know what else might," Hackett says slowly.

_To be done with the Reapers. To never have even heard about them. To..._

"You cannot possibly think that the promotion is not well-deserved – so, what is it, Shepard? Why reject what is rightfully yours?"

_Because I don't care? Because it's pointless?_

_Not something one could say to an Admiral, right?_

_Ah, damn it._

"Honestly – I don't care about ranks any more, Admiral. Don't ask how or why, it just happened." _Just now, just like that._

The furrow that forms between Hackett's brows is one of deep worry. "I know that these months have been taxing on you, Shepard. You have achieved the impossible, yet never faltered. Perhaps I should have realized -"

_How fucking much sometimes depends on me? That one day, inevitably, I won't be able to beat the odds? That there was a point when I might have been forced to obliterate a sentient race?_

_Tali. Legion._

Those moments next to the monstrous bulk of a dead Reaper's shell keep haunting him: _had I been unable to make them stand down..._

The furrow grows even deeper. "Let us leave the matter of your promotion unresolved for now. I think you need a break, Commander."

Shepard wonders what he must be looking like now, for Hackett to sound so fatherly. "I'll take that break, Sir, but not the rank, and that is my final word. Just let me do my job."

Unsatisfied, Hackett finally nods. As Shepard rises, their eyes meet one last time and they both know: they will rest only when they are dead.


	70. The Impact

The world keeps swirling around him, the taste of blood in his mouth makes him nauseous. He'd much wish to curl and die, if he could curl, but he is in too much pain to die comfortably.

Then, the instincts kick in. _Get up, fight. Don't remain lying. They'll be after you. Don't be where they expect you. Fight back._

Groaning, Shepard raises his head. Wherever he has landed, the impact has proven too much even for the Cerberus hard bone weave: he must have broken half his ribs, or at least it feels so. His surroundings do not give much clue but it looks like some cooling storage area, the dead fish around him seem to be freezing slowly and he is beginning to shudder in his torn wet clothes. The exposed skin is covered in cuts and bruises, like some intricate tattoo.

_Damn… the date. Blast Joker with that invitation of his._

But Joker said that he had received an invitation from _Shepard…_

 _A trap. Get moving, Shepard. Fast._ He gropes for the first aid kit at his belt.

His fingers feel just torn cloth and skin.

_Oh, shit._

Gasping, he gets onto his knees; the attempt has him sweating despite the cold. _I'm having a date… in two hours. No way… I'm going to miss it. It's not like… I cannot move… without medigel._

 _And… it's not like I cannot put up a fight without a gun, right?_ he thinks rather desperately, hearing heavy steps approach and a voice issuing orders, while he feels that he can at best faint at them.

Then, a familiar shape draws his eyes, and his hand moves of its own volition.

A gun. _His_ gun now.

The touch invigorates him. Crouched, he gets up and takes cover behind some crates, the coppery taste in his mouth no longer an issue. The approaching mercs are apparently taking it leisurely, expecting no more than to scrap his remains.

_Big mistake, fuckers. I'm having a date, and you're in the way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel is on the way, but I'm afraid I hate the evil clone plot too much to include it in any way. Shepard has stepped on enough toes to explain an assassination attempt even without it.


	71. The Marks

Despite the bandages, despite the stiffness, Shepard wakes up in a cheerful mood - he is in his own bed, after all, in his room, with his wife-to-be just close by, seated in the armchair next to the big holo of some planet with several moons.

"Hey." Jack tosses away the datapad. "I was wondering when you were planning to come to." Swinging her bare legs, she jumps off the armchair and walks over to his bed. "You owe me a date, remember?"

Moving cautiously, Shepard finds out that the ribs are much less of a problem than he is entitled to. "Sorry. But I did turn up, after all."

"Yeah, but with all your buddies around and Chakwas fussing over you while you were bleeding on the floor. You didn't even leave any fun with those mercs for me."

"Sorry for that, too. We were too busy to stop until it was over."

"Pffft. Excuses." She comes even closer, her grin somewhat predatory.

"Where's everyone?" he asks, to make sure.

The grin widens. "Arming up and gathering intel and the like, I guess. I just had to promise Chakwas that I won't let you get up... which I won't, no worries"

He glances her over, from her legs to the top. "Wait a sec… that's _my_ T-shirt?"

Jack tugs at the fabric as if she saw it the first time. "Plain, ugly – yeah, I guess it's one of yours. Best to do away with it, anyway, because I've got a _surprise_ for you. Turn over for a moment."

Five minutes later, he curses his own stupidity as well as lack of foresight, but it is too late to complain about his freshly found dislike of needles. He is not particularly thrilled about the skull in the tattoo, either, and his ribs protest more than he would like - but he would hold for her even if she were carving out his spine, because, _nobody else ever mattered enough_ for her to put her mark on.

"Don't squirm," the love of his life tells him off for an umpteenth time as the needles hit a nerve, so he just grits his teeth and attempts to suffer in a more Commanderly way, with little success.

When he is finally allowed to turn back, he sits up for a well-deserved hug and kiss, but Jack's eyes are suddenly glistening and her hands, so firm with the needles, are beginning to shake as she cups his face: "Don't… don't you do this to me again. Ever."

"No more falls through fishtanks," he promises solemnly and holds her tight, because such a promise will be much easier to keep than not to die on her, ever.


	72. Strategy

Walking along the Silversun, Jack is still high on adrenaline from the arena, gesturing animatedly while devouring a huge steak in a _ciabatta_ to replenish her energy. The kiss still sings in Shepard veins, and he throws caution to the wind, or perhaps not. "How 'bout we register?" he points at an office of the Bureau of Civilian Affairs.

"Huh?" Jack swallows a huge bite of the steak, her lips glistening with grease.

"With the Civil Affairs office. Or did you want a ceremony?"

"Huh? What are – oh. Wh-" She breaks off in a fit of cough as some crumb gets stuck in her throat. "You fucking out of your _mind_?" she gasps when she catches her breath again, with the help of a profound blow to her back.

"Why?" Shepard feigns casual innocence. "For all the purposes, I consider myself married already." He jerks his shoulder, indicating her stamp of possession. "So why not make it official? - Now, of course, if you want a white dress and rings and the like, I can oblige -"

With a few colourful words, Jack sends the white dress and the like into oblivion, but her heart is apparently not in it.

"Black leather then?" Shepard suggests with a wink.

"You're impossible!" Frustrated, Jack rakes at her hair. "It's total bullshit!"

"Why?"

She opens her mouth for an answer, then slowly closes it.

_Why indeed? 'You're gonna have something that tells the galaxy that you belong to me', right?_

Seeing her expression, Shepard knows that he has won, even before she sharply nods. "You really mean it, Shepard?"

"I do."

"Okay, dumbass. Okay. Let's do it." The rest of the steak flies into the nearest bin and Jack wipes her mouth. "So, what are you waiting for? Let's go before I change my mind."

Grabbed by the hand and pulled through the crowd, Shepard doesn't protest. Once you choose the right strategy, you always follow.


	73. Undercover

Bureau of Civil Affairs is a finger on the pulse of the Citadel. Everything flows through here. Every bit of information. A web of contacts, here. A central node of threads. Therefore, good memory required, fast decision-making. And stubbornness. Rules must be observed. Civilly. Never lose the nerve.

Some days difficult, Jirsal Sindarre assesses. Some more than others. But he can cope – good memory, good decisions. Good manners, as well. Promotion hoped for soon.

Good memory, so no need to verify Connor Shepard. Alliance Commander, Council Spectre. Civil clothes, not official. Private business? The other human, a wanted criminal. Jack, no surname or clan name. Notify C-Sec? Better not involve in Spectre business. Some undercover operation, most likely.

A marriage registration request? Sindarre is baffled for and instant. _Definitely not interfere_. "Marriage ceremony schedule free in five days. The standard form for requirements -"

"Fuck the ceremony," the criminal mutters, "we have no time for this."

The Spectre smiles. Only mouth muscles involved, though. Meaning 'pretense' in humans. _Carefully here_. "As my wife says, we want a _fast_ ceremony. Or none at all."

"Yep." Narrowed eyes, sign of danger.

Sindarre's horns itch, danger acknowledged. "Of course. Declaration of intent required, though. A senior magistrate must officiate."

Assessment: the Spectre not pleased. "Can you arrange one, please?"

"Of course. In – " _two hours_ " – a moment. Excuse me, please. Best arranged in person."

Outside the office, more time to assess. Difficult days, one of those. Aithra T'Norri, not a good choice, big favour to ask. Galvard Mettis, low chances. Xein Talarrus, must be. Doesn't like interruptions at work, though. Must engage curiosity.

" _Commander Shepard_ wants to marry a criminal on the run? Jirsal, I'd think you're drunk if I didn't know you."

"Of course not drunk. Come and see yourself. You can officiate the ceremony if you want. A _fast_ one required."

Vocal chords vibrating, amusement. "Is this so? Well, I think I might just know one. You have a printed copy of the Citadel Charter in your office, I hope?"

Back in Sindarre's office, Talarrus doesn't waste time. A wise decision, the criminal pacing, the Spectre on the edge.

Talarrus holds the Charter before him. "You want to get married? Put your hand on this book and say 'I do'."

"I do."

"I do."

"Fine, done."

The name the criminal states for the record definitely fake.

The two leave, a great relief. "Curious what kind of operation requires this."

Talarrus _highly_ amused. "I'd say this was personal business – but for the sake of our safety, I suggest we act as if it was a classified undercover mission. Meaning, no chatting with your friend al-Jhilani, understood?"


	74. Permanent

On the way to the aparment, Jack indulges in a bold talk about a 'wedding afternoon, 'cos not gonna wait for the fucking night', but as the door of the lift closes behind them, the bravado ceases and she falls silent.

"Changed your mind?" Shepard murmurs, nuzzling against her neck.

"No. Hell, no, dumbass," she replies immediately but there is a false tone to it that alarms Shepard: _did I push her too fast?_

"What is it, inky?"

"Nothing. I just never – I never thought – fuck, I don't even know -" She bites her lip. " _You_ ever been married, Shepard?"

"Nope. No-one else ever mattered enough."

Her breath hitches, and Shepard sees that the old fears have caught up with her. She turns away from him. "You know what I am, what I was. Won't _you_ change your mind? Won't you - regret?"

"Hell, no. I wanted to propose long ago - was just afraid that you'd turn me down."

Jack's jaw drops in a way it rarely does and her eyes - _her_ _eyes, so beautifully brown, so expressive, so vulnerable_ \- blink too fast.

Shepard scoops her in his arms. "Come. Let me show you something."

In his bedroom, he rummages through a couple of drawers before he finds the box. "Look. This is a Ring of Victory, made of the metals native to the homeworlds that the Reapers have conquered. EDI gave it to me, so that I had a reminder of what I am fighting for, as a hope for victory. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I don't need any reminders because I have _you._ _You_ are my hope and my victory."

For a moment, he is seriously afraid that he completely screwed up, or that Jack might start crying in earnest, or both, but then things take a more predictable course, towards the delayed wedding afternoon, which somehow turns into evening, before he becomes aware of some hard object under his back. When he fetches it, the box of the Ring of Victory is somewhat worse for wear and it takes him some time to find the ring itself among the blankets.

Watching him, his wife snorts derisively. "I hope your sexbot isn't getting _ideas_?"

"If she does, they concern Joker," he assures her. "But I think it was a nice sentiment on her part."

"More like nice algorithm. You're not going to wear it, I hope?"

"No. Rings are impractical in my profession. Besides, I don't want to give people false impressions. Or _ideas_."

The glint in his wife's eyes tells him that _she_ got an idea, and one that he probably won't like on top of that. "Well, I guess _I_ could come up with something more practical, not to mention less cheesy. Or are you going to chicken out of something more _permanent_?"

He'd much love to, but there are challenges which must be taken. He stretches his left hand to her. "Go ahead, wife. Permanent and _visible_ while you're at it."


	75. Distraction

The Commander pouts most adorably, and Karin Chakwas is amused. _Not much amusement found these days, after all, between the Reapers and death and destruction_.

But today she is lucky: no death in her medbay, no life-threatening injury, but practically all of Shepard's team are somewhat worse for wear.

Knowing her Shepard, she doesn't insist on a scan until everyone else is checked, their injuries treated and the medbay empties, but even then he is reluctant. Chakwas knows the reason and the Commander knows that she does, and she doesn't bother to hide her amusement, despite his glares. She makes a show of touting over his barely healed ribs, which certainly could have gone without today's bruising, and commands: "Off with the shirt, this requires a bandage."

The Commander bears it with poor grace even though _this_ time, Chakwas refrains from comments. She thinks she knows why: eventually, the crew will learn, and just like herself, will be all too happy for such a distraction, especially as Shepard is so cutely touchy about his new adornments.

_Joker might want to watch that big mouth of his, though_ _._

Chakwas was present in the mess hall when Shepard decided to make the announcement, after the whole ship had been buzzing over the tattoo on his ring finger: the blue-and-black intertwined _J_ and _S_. Among the cheers and whistles and wellwishing and congratulations and catcalls, Joker smirked: _'I don't want to be_ that _guy, Commander, but I'd think that your_ wife _might actually know your first name.'_

 _'You are not badmouthing my wife, Flight Lieutenant, I hope?'_ Shepard retorted with such a glare that Joker barely stammered some apology, but few people noticed and the ugly moment passed quickly.

 _Not that Joker was put off for long._ Chakwas wonders if his remark about 'tattoo contagion' has already made it to Shepard's ears and if that's why the Commander might be so overly sensitive.

By the time she is done with bandaging, though, her patient is outright sulking, so Chakwas finally breaks the silence: "What's eating you, Commander? I understand that you are getting quite some attention these days, but I assure you this is normal with newlyweds. It will pass."

"I am not used to my crew discussing my private life with such enthusiasm, and I sure don't appreciate it."

"Can you blame them?" _And me?_ The tease seems to have gone too far. "Finding out that you are not so...impeccable... is a welcome outlet."

A snort. "I have had my share of prying, but _this..._ I swear, the next person who smirks behind my back, I'll throw them through the airlock, yourself included, Doctor."

"What a pity," Chakwas says calmly. "In that case, you won't have the chance to taste that special brandy which I got myself on the Citadel. I meant to prescribe you a glass as a cure for extreme grumpiness, but..."

The indignant look turns to sheepish. "Wait, am I so bad?"

"Yep." _What did you expect when you've basically painted a target on your back? Or tattooed, for that matter._ "Here. To you and Jack, Commander. On behalf of your loving crew."

With his eyes on the glass, he mutters: "I guess I should have expected the fuss but... it's driving me crazy. You say it will pass, right?"

"Right."

"Good. I never thought that engaging the Reapers might be such a welcome distraction." Downing the glass, he glances towards the intensive care unit. "How's Liara?"

 _Rocking back and forth._ "Besides the headache, she needs a little time to pull herself together. What happened down there?"

"Well... we made our acquaintance with asari Reapers. Biotic and with a scream that drills through your skull. Vega calls them 'banshees', that's supposed to be from some legend. I bet the name will stick."

_As if tattoed on their forehead, Commander._


	76. By Any Other Name

"Nice ring there," Dodger remarks in the showers.

"Whoah, a new dogtag? I want one too!"

"Hey, Nought, someone proposed?"

"Yeah," Jack shrugs, seemingly unphased: she knew what would follow if she decided to wear the ring on a chain on her neck, thought it thoroughly through and through, and prepared.

Corporal Patil, the toughest bitch on the ship (except Jack herself, that is), squeals like a little girl. "The Commander?"

"Yeah," Jack snorts: the pretence of nonchalance is harder than assumed.

"And when is the big day?" Dodger enquires with a broad smile.

"Already was." Pulling the T-shirt over her head, Jack rolls her eyes. "Didn't want the media to get wind of it, so we had a quiet fast ceremony. No big deal, really."

The disappointment in the room is almost tangible, and so is the curiosity. Yan Zhang's eyes are wide like saucers.

Cursing under her breath, Jack plants her hands in her sides. "Look, you wanna gossip, do, but make sure I don't hear any of it, is that clear? And if some fucking reporter comes nosying, I'll shred them to tiny twitching pieces – but only after I find out _who_ talked."

Patil slaps her thigh, and the grins in the room get conspiratorial. "No worries, Jackie," the marines assure her. "Not a word gets outside the _Lima_."

"It'd better not," Jack growls, and a warm feeling spreads in her stomach as she receives handshakes and slaps on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Miss Nought – er – " Yan pipes, and Dodger grins, " – Mrs Shepard?"

"Don't you mrsshepard me if you like your teeth where they are," Jack warns, but that warm feeling inside is almost singing now, and she wouldn't mind being called anything. She strokes the ring and is only sorry that her hands are so covered in ink that she cannot make there the same tattoo that she made for Shepard.

_Shepard stares at his ring finger weirdly, and then it strikes her. 'Oh, fuck... Shepard, I'm so -" baffled, she throws her arms wide. "I've always only called you Shepard, so it didn't occur to me... damn, I'll correct it somehow..."_

_He gets up and sweep her in his arms in that way which always makes her feel cared for and safe. "Don't. I actually like it better this way. No-one except mom calls me 'Connor' these days, and I sure don't want you to be momsy when we're making out."_

_Relieved, she laughs, but the tension of his body makes her frown. "You_ really _you don't mind?"_

" _No." He rests his cheek on the crown of her head. "_ C _is also for_ Commander _, and I sure don't want to carry that reminder till the end of my life."_

" _But - " Jack blinks._ What happened to that 'all for the Alliance' _attitude?_

" _I'm tired," he says in a small voice. "Tired of... being_ The _Commander_."

" _Come on, dumbass," she says, at a loss what else she should say, and hugs him tighter._

_Shepard laughs a little. "You know, this always sounds from you like 'darling'."_

" _Of course it does," she mutters into the crook of his neck. "Of course it does, dumbass."_


	77. Staged

Masked by the cloaking device, he keeps twirling his sword lazily. Every now and then when Shepard walks past, he indicates a stab at his heart.

_You're dead and don't even know it,_ Spectre.

Shepard takes quite some time looking for the Prothean artifact but Kai Leng knows the value of patience: the stage is set, and nothing can interfere.

This time, it is going to be perfect.

True, he would have preferred to simply off Shepard along with his bunch of aliens, including that blue bitch T'Soni who has hampered Cerberus operations so many times, but there is a right time for everything. Shepard is being such a good dog, after all, sniffing out the artifact, so when the 'fetch' moment comes, they can pat his head and let him be, for a little longer.

It does irritate him, Leng has to admit, that the Illusive Man, for all his brilliance, seems to have such a weak spot for this alien lover, but that patience of trying to get Shepard back on their side has to wear thin eventually.

He is not wrong: Shepard is just too full of himself again and refuses to see reason.

_Your bad, Shepard. Fetch!_

Leng has to smile when the moment comes: it is almost too easy. The shuttle's missiles breach the floor right under the oh-not-quite-so-great Commander's feet. Leng would love to wave him bye-bye but he is not too hopeful: Shepard does have a reputation of surviving falls. A mere inconvenience – a delay at a most inconvenient time. He sneers for himself. With the Prothean VI safely uploaded in his omnitool, he walks away leisurely while Shepard's bunch of misfits are having a hard time crawling from the rubble that the explosions have brought down on their heads.

Shepard's belated attempt to fire at the leaving shuttle is indeed laughable.

Satisfied, Leng leans back in his seat. His new implants are filling him with the feeling of unmatched superiority; it is almost like a song in his mind, with a sweet promise of victory.

_If only everything went so smoothly..._

Not for the first time, he regrets that the Illusive Man was so adamant about not allowing him to participate in the Grissom mission. 'Too personal', he had said, but how did it go without him? A failure, for the bigger part. Had they captured Subject Zero, Shepard could have been put to much better use than that of an unwitting tool. The attack on the Citadel wouldn't have been thwarted, and...

Kai Leng sneers. Either way, he can look forward to the next encounter with Shepard, one that will finally show who the boss is. Especially after they utilize that little surprise that they have in store for Mr Shepard.

Kai Leng is sincerely looking forward to that.


	78. Cross-species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking place simultaneously with this chapter, is the Remembering the Delta chapter of Unmemorabilia. I had pondered long whether and how to place it in my headcanon, till I realized it had already become part of it on its own, so here you go. If you don't feel like browsing through my other works, there is a short summary under a spoiler tag below.

The bed is not designed for two but for a time, it can do – too short a time, Tali knows. The air caresses her bare body in ways she is unused to, the feel of the blankets, the scents, the carapace... she sighs softly.

"Would you like to put on the suit?"

 _Always the gentleman._ "There's no hurry. We're both dextro, after all," she says, more wishfully than truthfully. She can already feel her mouth and eyes itching, as well as _other_ parts. Yet she postpones putting on the suit: the procedure is lengthy, and unsavoury, and she wants to enjoy the moment while it lasts.

The taloned hand moves over her hip, ever so gently, and Tali pulls closer, to feel the warmth of the coarse skin and hard plates. After a lifetime in the suit, the touch of the alien physiognomy is no stranger than the touch of her own kind, and she relishes in it. She is just careful not to press on his hurt side, not to remind either of them that their first such moment may well be the last.

 _Failure_. It permeates even the sound of the _Normandy_ 's engines, the quiet hum that Tali feels with all of her body, along with the beat of Garrus' heart.

"I am worried about Liara," she hears herself say aloud.

She can feel the vibration of his vocal chords even before he replies: "Seeing one's homeworld like this... the first time I saw Palaven from above, cloaked in smoke and fires... I'll never forget the sight. But I am more concerned about Shepard. When I see him... There is – or was – a place on Palaven where a forest was buried under the sands and petrified during the aeons. As the sandstone eroded away, the trunks remained standing, exposed to the elements, seemingly hard but with little cracks inside..." His voice peters out, the hand caressing her pauses.

"I know what you mean," she says softly, "and I worry about him, too. But Liara... there is no telling what she might do."

"What do you mean?"

"That shock, the loss... something rash." _Like when I all but dragged you to my bed when I should have let you rest. Not to mention all those antibiotics and antihistaminics that I should have been taking in advance._

The rumble of the vocal chords. "I honestly have no idea what you are implying."

"Well, those feelings she has for Shepard -"

"What?!"

 _Must be a male thing - a cross-species phenomenon, apparently._ "You never noticed? Practically the whole time while we were chasing Saren, she was giving Shepard _those_ looks." Tali chuckles. "It was so funny seeing Ashley fume over it, while Shepard was interested in neither -"

"Wait, _Ashley_ was also -"

"Yep."

Garrus rises on his elbow. "You make it sound as if every female on the board pursued romantic feelings for the Commander at some point," he phrases carefully.

"Well, apparently not _every_ one, Mr Vakarian."

His mandibles clutter softly. "I certainly hope so."

"He's like a brother I never had," Tali confesses. "Someone you can trust implicitly." _Someone who has your back no matter what. I was so angry with Ashley when she threw that trust away._

"I know what you mean." A moment of silence, with only the vocal chords vibrating. "But I still do not follow why you are concerned about Liara. She knows how taken he is with Jack, so confessing her feelings wouldn't gain her anything, only a very awkward moment for both of them."

"I hope you are right." _Because she will need comfort. Because she -_ "Garrus..." Tali's voice breaks, because she cannot repel that look in Liara's eyes, "Garrus, can you hold me very tight, please?"

When he obliges, she buries her cheek in the crook of his neck, holding onto him as if for her very life, and the look in Liara's eyes is reflected on the inside of her lids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler for Remembering the Delta (Unmemorabilia, chapter 5)
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> Following the Thessia debacle, neither Liara nor Shepard can fall asleep. Fully aware that certain asari herbs have a strong effect on humans, Liara offers him a massage to seduce him when intoxicated. In the morning she puts up an innocent "friendly service" act and feigns embarrassment over the "accidental" drugging. Shepard believes her for now.


	79. Grown

The pounding music doesn't calm her the way it usually does; there is a new, false tone to it.

Annoyed, Jack flexes her shoulders and puts her left leg over the right one. Focusing on the duty rosters is more difficult than it should, and her thoughts are scattered like some fucking butterflies.

"Hey. Still working?" Forge appears seemingly from the smoke in the air, carrying two glasses. Putting one in front of Jack, he unceremoniously drops into the chair opposite her.

"Looking at those duty rosters. Prangley is getting way much attention."

"That he is," Forge jerks his head towards the dancing pairs where Prangley and Rodriguez are so entwined that it's hard to say where each starts.

Jack snorts. "Whatever keeps the kids going. Thing is, ever since he got the knack of making barriers which stop even a brute, he gets assigned to practically every mission. He needs a break every now and then. He's still just a kid, after all."

"Is he?"

Jack opens her mouth for a scathing retort, then closes it. Prangley still has that round, freckled face and translucent skin that mercilessly reveals every blush, but where is that kiddo with shuffling feet and dangling hands who walked as if constantly apologizing for his existence? There, holding Rodriguez, who no longer stutters every time someone addresses her, is a young man oozing quiet self-confidence. Jack feels pride swelling in her, and something else: a feeling she cannot name, suddenly clutching at her stomach. To cover the sudden unease, she reaches for the glass. "You're right. The boy has grown. Ask Rodriguez."

"I didn't mean sex," Forge says softly. "They all have grown."

 _I know, yeah? I fucking know!_ The alcohol burns her throat and her eyes are welling. _'Thinking with your ovaries again?'_ She can almost see Captain Lotts' sarcastic face.

 _So what. Grown or not, they are still my kids. Mine. Mine._ "They'd be dead if they hadn't," she blurts. _Still may. Will, most likely._

_Why couldn't those blue bitches hold their own? Dancing and fucking their way all over the galaxy, but where were those stupid commandos of theirs when the Reapers came? Palaven is still fighting, the Earth is, Tuchanka..._

There are few asari in the bar, way fewer than any time before. Suddenly, uncomfortably, Jack remembers the little asari she saw in the _Apollo_ café, with Kahlee, ages ago. _'Have you ever...?'_

_The girl may not even be alive now._

Growling, Jack deactivates the 'tool and empties her glass in one gulp. "Care to dance?" she asks, perhaps too aggressively, because Forge only laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm totally hopeless. You enjoy yourself."

Pushing among the dancers, she sees Zhang and Dodger, shooting her a little guilty look, as always, but she ignores them: _whatever keeps them going..._

She starts dancing on her own and soon, there is an empty space around her: she is setting the rhythm, the style, but she doesn't care. There is only her and the music, finally getting the right beat.

She started dancing with her arms above her head but now holds them on her hips, on her abdomen.

No more fooling herself, no more dawdling. This can't wait any longer.


	80. Hope

The Huerta Memorial is a big, modern place, well-financed and well-equipped, yet there are days when Chloe Michelle yearns for her old, shabby clinic, overcrowded and in need of renovation, for the time when the people of the Citadel were coming to receive treatment for their rashes, fevers, diarrhoeas and stomachaches. The worst she encountered back then were victims of accidents or bar fights.

The Huerta is overcrowded these days, as well, with bullet wounds and burns and mutilating injuries, but the eyes are always the same, always: _help me, doctor. Help me. Save me. Do your doctor magic and make me alright._

_Make the world alright, because there are monsters out there. Help, doctor. Help._

Once, a dying krogan gripped her hand so hard that her skin tore. _Help me, doctor. Please, help._

The mark is still there on her wrist, so that she never forgets, not even on the relief duty.

All the doctors are regularly rotated between the wards, to provide them an escape, because the war doesn't stop the population of the Citadel from developing rashes, fevers, diarrhoeas and stomachaches, doesn't stop them from being born or dying. Big or small, blue, white, scaly – they all come to her. _Help, doctor. Help_. Two eyes, four eyes, crests and tentacles, they all lay their ailments and hopes at her feet.

She is grateful for every mercy, for every hope that she can fulfil.

_Hope._

"As far as I can tell, you are in perfect health." Michelle sets her smile a notch above mere professional, to calm her apparently nervous patient. "If you'd like to, I can -"

"No!" Hastily, the woman jumps off the examination table. "No, I – it's – fuck, it's just a hypothetical question!"

Michelle doesn't bat a lash at the profanity – in her experience, people claim 'hypothetical' when they have already made up their mind, and her patient, with the extensive tattoos and bravado, seems no exception. "Of course. If you change your mind – "

"Yeah, yeah," the woman starts for the door of the dressing room as if hell was breaking loose behind her.

"Good luck in your choice, Ms Nought," Michelle wishes her softly, disconcerted by her patient's anxiety more than she would have expected. "Don't lose hope."

Jacqueline Nought pauses with her hand on the doorknob. Taking a breath, she squares her shoulders after a moment and turns back to Michelle. "Me and doctors don't go well together," she says in a way of explanation. "Thank you, doctor. Good luck to you, too." She shoots a flicker of a smile, and is gone.

Michelle watches the door for a while. She might access the Alliance databases, find out what there is to those scars hidden under the tattoos. She doesn't.

She doesn't want to extinguish that tiny hope in the woman's eyes, doesn't want to overwrite it with shadows of the past.

Hope is the only thing left these days, after all, and she wishes that Jacqueline Nought's choice will be the right one.


	81. Price

"We're losing."

Ramrod straight, Hackett lets neither his posture nor his voice reveal what he feels when looking at the maps and diagrams. Nobody moves but only few meet his eyes, Hannah Shepard one of them. Grey eyes, not like her son's, but the look is the same. The look that will give a pause to death itself.

"The Reapers are simply too many. We cannot beat them, we cannot hold them off indefinitely. Therefore, it is absolutely vital that we finish the Crucible."

Admiral Mikhailovich shuffles in his chair but doesn't say a word: all the words had been said – yelled, even – in private. Hackett is grateful for the silence. _I know that we have no idea what the fucking thing is supposed to do, Peter. I know its construction has cost us resources that could have been put to better use. I know it is a huge gamble. And_ you _know that our defeat is only a matter of time, and we have run out of options._

Hackett slightly raises his voice. "In order to do so, we need to retrieve the information that Cerberus has stolen. They have been hampering our operations ever since the beginning of the war, yet we have been unable to remove this thorn in our side. This is going to change now, as we have finally located the Cerberus main base."

Sensing the atmosphere in the room peak immediately, Hackett allows himself a small smile: _we may be losing, but we haven't lost_ yet _._ "I needn't emphasize to you that any information leak might prove fatal. Therefore, the task forces will be informed on a strictly need-to-know basis. The remaining forces are to begin preparations for a counter offensive immediately. As soon as the Crucible is completed, we hit the Reapers with all we have."

When the meeting is over, Hannah Shepard remains in the room. "A question, if I may: what role is my son to be assigned?"

"He and his team will retrieve the information."

Never shy of her superiors, Shepard's eyes drill into him. "Because he was the one who failed to secure it?"

"Because he's the one standing the best chance," Hackett frowns at the turn of the dialogue.

"That he is," Shepard assesses her son's abilities with the faintest trace of pride. "But he's still only human. I wonder if you realize how much you make depend on him. Even the best tools break when overused."

"We don't exactly have the luxury of choice, Admiral. You know how many of our finest we lost in those first days of the invasion. And you also know that if _you_ were in my place, you would have to do the same."

A bitter grimace. "Of course I do. I just wanted to make sure you were fully aware what you are doing to my son, as I would."

 _To him, and to anyone else._ "Do you believe I need to be reminded?"

Shepard's eyes never falter. "I wouldn't know. Do you?"

Hackett briefly hesitates before answering, and Hannah Shepard grimly nods. "If we survive this, I'll remind you," she says softly. "You owe him at least that much."

_If we survive, we'll owe him much more. And I will pay that price when I can afford it, not now._

Watching Shepard leave, Admiral Hackett rubs his temples. He too is a tool that mustn't break.


	82. Across the Space

The quantum comm image is bluish and blurred around the edges: the connection is far from perfect.

"Hi, inky," Shepard says.

"What's up?" Jack blurts, because even though she can see and hear him, her heart is still racing: _something must have happened, something terrible_. Or else he wouldn't have used the comm.

Besides, she can see it in his face.

"I need to tell you something." He takes a breath. "I'd rather do this face to face but if things go south, if we don't meet... I want you to hear from me, not someone else."

"So quit screwing around and tell me already!" _Before I choke on that fucking stupid heart of mine._

She receives a sheepish look. "Sorry. It's just... it's gonna be hard on you. I wish I..." he passes his hand over his face. "That student of yours whom we identified on the Citadel..."

"Sylvia." _Haggard face and husk-like eyes._ _Abominable_ _._

"We found out what had happened to her, and how." Both his hands fly to his face momentarily, as if to stop the truth from outing. In the flickers of static, his voice is even hoarser. "She supposedly stayed for a while at that refugee facility on Horizon – that much is true. Only, she never left. No-one did. They... it was a sham, Jack. A trap. All those people who arrived there..."

His words are buzzing around her ears like angry hornets. _Processed? Implanted? Turned?_ She can't breathe. _The small cell, the one-sided window, the girl screaming herself hoarse..._

"Jack!"

She snaps back into reality, with wet cheeks and taste of blood in her mouth. Her corona fades out.

"Jack..." the bluish hand reaches towards her, as if it could cross the vastness of space. Hers reaches towards him, their fingertips merge.

The lack of physical touch almost hurts.

"Did you kill them all?" she asks hoarsely. "Did you?"

"Almost," he replies with a feral growl. "One fucker escaped. And most... the work had been all but done when we arrived. Lawson – Miranda Lawson had handled them. It was her own father who ran the facility, and she put an end to it, and him." His eyes drop. "She didn't make it, though."

The cheerleader's fate is about the last thing Jack is interested in. "And the rest of them? The Illusive Man? What are you going to do about them?"

"Off them," Shepard says brusquely. "Can't go into details now but believe me, it's gonna be grand. And before..." His voice softens and he makes a step closer. "We're headed to the Citadel and... I've pulled some favours, so the _Lima_ should be headed there, as well. I want to see you, inky, I want to see you so bad..."

"Just _see_ , dumbass?" she cocks her head.

Shepard chuckles, and she steps in to kiss the bluish image.


	83. Holding Back

In the subdued bathroom lighting, her eyes are dark holes in a pale oval of a face that she doesn't quite recognize.

_Such a fucked up evening._

She  _had_  expected Shepard to want to talk about Horizon – but she had expected to rage against Cerberus, to have awesome sex to let off the angst, to hold each other for comfort, to plan some ass-kicking...

Instead, Shepard wanted to talk  _Lawson_. How he hadn't done right by her, for fuck's sake. As if it fucking mattered now that she's dead.

_Fuck her. Fuck him_.

But she knows, deep within, that this is not fair, with either, and she knows damn well why it all went south, even the sex. Jack bites her lip hard. She might have been willing to listen, even give the cheerleader some points for what she had done, but not this time, not today, because -

Her hand stops shy of touching that particular spot on her upper arm.  _So, Shepard, how 'bout, you know, kids?_

_Hey, Shepard, you ever considered -_

_\- I wanted to ask -_

_\- you wanna -_

Clasping her hands over her mouth, she silences a whimper.  _Wimp, fucking wimp_. This has nothing to do with Lawson, and she knows it.

Sinking her teeth into her forefinger, Jack struggles with the rising pain: she must know, needs to know, if Shepard is with her on this, but if he is not, she cannot imagine what she would do. Sure, now is definitely not the best time, but  _now_  may be all they have left, and -

She bites so hard that she nearly screams.

When she went to the Huerta, she wasn't thinking much ahead. She wasn't thinking much ahead even when she sat locked in the toilet cabin for hours, mustering her courage. With the distance between them, the talk seemed easier.  _Shepard, I_  – Her shallow breathing makes her dizzy.  _What have I done?_

The whimper can no longer be contained.

A quiet rap on the door startles her and it opens before she can pull herself together. "Jack? Look, I'm –"

"Can't you fucking leave me alone?! You spying on me or what?"

She regrets lashing out even before she finishes, and the plain hurt in Shepard's face –

A moment of dead silence.

_Sorry, I'm sorry_ , she wants to say, but it comes out as an inarticulate wail, and she cries uncontrollably, and unstoppably, despite his arms scooping her, despite his muttered words, because she has built a wall between them, and it's all her fault.


	84. Husbanding

His butt is freezing – for all the high-tech, the floor heating wasn't designed with the idea of someone sitting nude against the bathroom wall. But he will remain like that nonetheless, for as long as his wife is holding onto him as if drowning. She is no longer sobbing but she still doesn't raise her head, doesn't respond, and he doesn't quite know what to do.

"Sorry to have upset you, inky," he mutters at last. "Didn't think I'd fuck up the husbanding so soon." What does he know about married life, after all? He never hung out with married men, and his own father is a distant memory of strong arms and a smile above the navy blue.

That finally brings out a response: a jittery giggle. "Not used to not performing, huh?"

But there is no real jab in that, and he chuckles with her. "I guess not." Because, he always has to perform, always, and if he fails -

Jack snuggles her face into the hollow of his throat. "I'm not pissed with you, dumbass. Not really. Everyone fucks up now and then. Me too." A shudder passes through her body, and for a moment, he can barely breathe in the tight embrace.

She's holding something back, he can tell, but doesn't want to press – not with what he is holding back. He rests his cheek in her hair, breathing in the scent, to repel that herbal smell on Liara's strangely cool skin. "Anyway, sorry to have upset you." _Sorry to have betrayed you. I never wanted to_.

Jack huffs, then squirms to glance at him. "You were right," she concedes sourly. "About the cheer-" A profound pause. "Lawson.  _Miranda_. You were right. But she was still a cold bitch, you know? A fucking ice queen. Annoying like hell."

Shepard takes care not to sigh, but his wife knows him all too well. He can feel her scowl against his skin. "Yeah, she had our backs and never turned on us, and she eventually kicked some Cerberus assess. Doesn't mean I have to love her."

_About as far as we can get, right_? It pains him to think that the only time he saw Miranda entirely without her cold mask was in her last moments. Then a thought occurs to him. "You still have that picture of her?"

"Huh? - You mean, her flying ass-first? No. I deleted it after I left the Normandy, I didn't expect there would ever be a chance to shove it in her face."

_Universe be blessed for small mercies_. Miranda deserved better. He shifts his arms a bit, so that he can stroke Jack's back more comfortably, and finally, she eases into a more relaxed position.

Curiously, despite the numbness in his butt, he feels more at ease himself – almost happy, as if it wasn't for what had happened, or what was going to.

_If I fail again, I better not be coming back_ , he realizes. He kisses his wife in the hair.  _I must not fail._

But despite his best resolutions, this may be the last time he is holding her like this.

His embrace must have tightened involuntarily, because Jack raises her head with a questioning look.

"Let's start the evening over," he suggests.

Jack's face starts forming her usual mischievous grimace, but then she rests her head on his shoulder again. "Would you... Could you just hold me? At least for now?"

"Sure. I'd just like to find a more comfortable seat."

Standing up with Jack in his arms is not as easy as it seemed but he manages. Dressed only in her inks, the touch of her skin imprints onto him, and this is the memory that he wants to take with him onto storming the Cerberus base, to make good on his second and last chance.


	85. Pyrrhus

_Shepard!_

Among the gunshots and cracking biotics, the phantoms flashing in and out with their shields, a single mistake, a single moment's hesitation can be fatal – yet Shepard  _freezes_. The phantom rushing at him in a whirl of biotics and steel, is a black figure with blue sheens dancing on her thighs, hips and breasts, the momonolecular blade aiming for his heart, yet Shepard's finger still hesitates to pull the trigger.

Seeing Shepard freeze like that, Liara nearly freezes herself, but then an opposite extreme overcomes her: rage. All the Lazarus and Akuze materials they were basically stumbling over during their progress through the Chronos station, were just a prelude to this, to the final blow in the form of some hapless implanted girl in Jack's battle suit.

With her left hand, Liara raises a barrier before Shepard; with her right, opens a singularity that draws the phantom in. The moment the woman loses her footing, her personal shield flares once, twice, and then a neat hole appears in the middle of her chest.

Liara doesn't waste the time to nod to Garrus; this  _all_  is just a prelude, and –

Kai Leng materializes just behind Shepard's back.

And before she or Garrus can even yell a warning, Shepard  _swirls_ , his omniblade flashing. Liara has seen him fight many a desperate fight, but never to exhibit such a level of controlled rage. This time, the Cerberus assassin doesn't stand a chance. His bloodied face is contorted in disbelief as his body slowly hits the ground.

Soon, except the team, there is not a living soul left.

Stepping over Kai Leng's corpse, Shepard kneels next to the body of the woman in black and blue hardsuit.

"It's not her, Shepard. It's not Jack, "Garrus says, while Liara's throat tightens painfully as she echoes the words in her mind. But she cannot,  _cannot_ , be the one speaking now.

With trembling hands, Shepard removes the helmet. The face underneath has olive features and closely cropped, curly black hair. It's not her.

It's not her, and a part of Liara cannot help but calculate,  _what if she was._

As if reading her mind, Shepard looks up at her. Through the visor, she cannot see his eyes but she knows the look: the one telling her that the lie she had offered him to save his face – and hers – no longer works.

Shepard gets up, still facing her, but Liara never learns if he meant to call her out on it right then and there. The comm buzzes, and Admiral Hackett informs them that even though they haven won a battle, they may have just lost the war. The Reapers have seized the Citadel and flocked around the Earth.

In victory, a loss: Liara recalls that human history even has a name for it, after some ancient general. She knows what that Pyrrhus must have felt like; she fells like that on many, many levels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite some time, so just a little reminder: if you recall Kai Leng thinking about a surprise for Shepard, this was it, making use of the highly specific hardsuit that Jack had left behind during the evacuation of the Grissom Academy.
> 
> Also, I have allowed myself a little liberty here, making Hackett the one telling Shepard that the Reapers seized the Citadel, as I don't really see why Vendetta would, or should, know about it. Besides, telling them only after they have succeeded and won the fight, makes for a bigger gutpuncher.


	86. Chances

The view of the stars shows the emptiness amongst, and emptiness is what Shepard feels, watching.

 _This is it. The final mission._ _The_ real _suicide mission_ _._

For all the forces that have been amassed, the Reapers' strength still makes all the efforts futile. It is luck, mere chance, that will decide their fate – chance that they need to strive and struggle and die for, to ensure even a chance of chance happening.

And if the chance fails...

Some survivors might find hideouts across the galaxy; on some distant, backwater planets, humanity might attempt to rebuild... But can it be hoped that the Reapers won't find them? No-one knows how thorough a harvest is but eternal machines can spend millenia, tens of millenia, combing the galaxy.

None of the previous cycles saw a reappearance of the harvested races, after all.

The letters are almost finished, and not as hard to write as he had expected, except the usual struggles with phrasing. He is sorry he hadn't arranged for a meeting with mom prior the attack on the Cerberus station was launched, but when soldiering, that's the way things go.

_The story of my life. Always a soldier._

There was a time he thought this was all there was to it, to his life, and that this was all that he wanted. It has been only recently, in those sleepless nights, that he wonders what else he might have done with his life, and that he will most likely never have a chance to find out. He gets up, studying up close the ship models that he has collected and assembled with his own hands. He has always had a knack for ship designs, though the time when he toyed with an idea of becoming a ship engineer was only brief. He drops his eyes to his hands: a fine killing instrument, could they ever be anything else?

 _If I_ had _become an engineer, where would I be now? Dead or on the run, most likely, unable to do a thing. Despairing about the fate of my family..._

 _Family_. Somehow, that concept never seemed to have a place in his life, and with a pang of guilt, he realizes that it is something he never really discussed with the one person he should have.

Somehow, though, it makes that last letter easier to write.

_Dearest Jack, dearest wife,_

_I am not sure if I have made sufficiently clear how much our time together meant for me. If our effort has failed, I'll be waiting for you wherever it is people wait, to tell you in person. But if we have won, my love, go on living. Live all those things that I cannot give you any more. And dance and laugh, and write some beautiful poems. I wish I could write you something beautiful, too, but my poetry is even worse than my dancing, and I cannot think about anything more beautiful than 'I love you', anyway. So, I love you, Jack, and always will._

He stares at the screen for a few minutes but then simply signs with an ' _S.'_ , the way he always does. EDI will arrange for the letters to be stored on the extranet, to make sure they will reach their recipients even in case the  _Normandy_ is destroyed. There is just the last thing that needs to be done, because bureaucrats will probably survive even the Reapers.

_To my beloved wife, Jacqueline Nought, I bequeathe..._

Turning off the datapad, Shepard lies down to gather strength,to give all he has into the fight for the chance of a chance.


	87. Family

" _Never before have so many come together-from all quarters of the galaxy. But never before have we faced an enemy such as this. The Reapers will show us no mercy. "_

The Lima's huge docking bay resonates with Admiral Hackett's voice, his words etching into the minds and hearts. Everyone is intent, and quiet: no more pre-battle jokes masking nervousness, no more undergallows humour.

_This is it. Do or die. Now._

_The dying part is more likely._

Ela doesn't move, only her eyes glance from person to person. If they are thinking the same, they don't let it show. Neither does she. Jason is standing next to her, her solid rock in the space, and she won't fail him by not being strong.

Amir, Yan, Dodger, Henders, Sergeant Forge, even that jackass Kennedy... she won't fail them. She won't. Seanna, Riley, Miss Nought...

_Miss Nought._ It is difficult to think about her under any other name. She has become a constant in Ela's life, bright as a shooting star which stayed in the sky. Ela used to be awed by her - her self-confidence and raw beauty was everything that Ela herself was not. She has become wiser since then and can see Miss Nought for what she truly is, with the scars on the inside as well as on the outside, but loves her more for than, not less. And she knows that she is loved in turn, with a ferocious, unconditional love that might be frightening at another time and place but now only fills her with life and strength because Ela herself is not that frightened girl she used to be.

" _Each of us will be defined by our actions in the coming battle. Stand fast. Stand strong."_

_Stand together_ , Ela thinks along with the Admiral. She slowly turns her head around, taking in all the faces that she has come to know so well. Somewhere on the edge of her mind, she knows that this may be the last time she can see them all together, but all she feels now is an all-encompassing wave of emotion for which she has no other name but  _love_ ; the kind of love that one can feel as a part of a single whole.

"You've heard the man, kids." Captain Lotts' tone is resolute but her voice is thick with emotion. "Go give them hell."

"Yes, ma'm," the hall resonates.

"Yes, mommy," someone shouts at the back, and everyone echoes immediately, regs or not. Hands shoot up in a salute to the Captain, their Mommy Tammy, and then reach out to those around, the friends, the comrades, the family.

Ela's hand encompasses Jason's, and together, they turn to the transport shuttles.


	88. Cracks

The cracked tactical display lights with bright sparks, and each spark is a shuttle brought down by the hell of the Hades cannon: too many, and too soon. Coats watches Admiral Anderson: neither his face nor his eyes show anything, just like Coats' own. Old and young, dark and blue, they might have been cast from the same mold.

They all look the same, since the day the Reapers landed in fire. Focus on the job, never mind the losses, or you are lost yourself. Those who don't learn the lesson, lose focus. Those who lose focus, die, and take others along. Such is the truth of Coats' life, and there is no place for anything else. Coats has seen too many men go down like that.

Sometimes, Coats doesn't even recall any more what it was like to be also Jeffrey, who had a mother, a father, a younger brother and two nieces, a girlfriend, and a future. Major Coats' future doesn't extend beyond fighting the Reapers; here and there, in the final battle, and that's it. Completely focused. A perfect war machine, to counter the machines. It makes sense.

It is only in his sleep that he sometimes dreams Jeffrey's dreams, and wakes up breathing heavily.

_'Admiral. The objective achieved',_ the comm comes alive with the long-anticipated report.  _'We need extraction. Hostiles closing in.'_

"Copy that," Anderson replies. "Hold on, Commander." Switching over, he turns to Coats. "We'll pick Shepard ourselves."

Their shuttle evades the fire from a ravager nest and glides among the damaged buildings. The silhouette of the Big Ben tower, still standing, is framed by the light of a distant explosion; it's hollow inside like a cavern of dark. Coats holds his sniper rifle tighter.

The landing zone is hot – has it ever been otherwise? – and Coats with his men engage to provide cover for the Commander's retreating team. The shuttle takes off even before the door closes.

"Commander Shepard," Coats acknowledges the living legend, whose feats far surpass his military rank. His hardsuit is so covered in gore that the N7 logo is barely visible. "You okay?" he asks, glancing from the Commander to his team.

The removed helmet reveals a broad face, the expression of which could be Coats' own. "Alive."

"That you are," Anderson steps in, and in that moment, perhaps for the first time, Coats sees Anderson's features liven up with something long-forgotten but familiar, that is reflected in Shepard's face.

The handshake seems almost like an embrace.

Coats looks aside quickly, but not fast enough, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, Jeffrey remembers.

_Evie. Angie_.

He never had a chance to find out if they are still alive.

Then the moment is gone, the Commander and the Admiral are back to the war machine mode, and Coats' lapse passes unnoticed. He releases his breath slowly, pushing back another name that has escaped the bonds of his mind. The shuttle rocks wildly as Corporal Rhys evades a blast; there is no time for losing focus, not now, but Jenny's face, lit up like on that holiday on Hawaii, glows to him through the fire and smoke.

If any of them are still alive, the only way to reach them is through that fire and smoke, through the Reapers themselves. Then, and only then, the cracks might become pathways back to life, for the Major, the Admiral, and the Commander.


	89. Debts

In the momentary respite, she goes through the battle stats, and comes to a decision. Seeing Shepard finding a moment for himself, aside from the others, Liara approaches him: perhaps the last time they can see each other without their helmets.

"Liara. What is it?"

"I thought... this is perhaps our last chance to talk." The Hammer forces have sustained terrible losses, and so has the fleet. They can't hold on much longer. "I'd like to... show you something. As a goodbye."

His look is very intense but strangely calm. "Meaning, you want to get in my head again?"

"Yes."

"You knew what you were doing back then." That is not a question.

"Yes." There is no apology she can offer, and she won't lie again before the end.

A slow nod. "So I figured. But I guess it will soon cease to matter." His eyes harden, and Liara's mouth goes dry. "But if we live... Swear to me. Swear, T'Soni, that Jack never learns. Swear it on my death."

"I swear it. On your  _life_ , Shepard."

Anger flashes through his eyes that she dares to oppose, but then he relents. "Alright then. One more thing, though."

"Ask anything."  _There's_ _nothing_ _I wouldn't_ _do, even_ _if_ _I_ _didn't_ _owe_ _you._

"You will look after Jack if I'm not there. She's not exactly fond of you, so you might want to step carefully. Keep her safe. And if she asks anything - "

"- I will do it."  _And she'll_ _get_ _all_ _the_ _information_ _that_ _Cerberus had on her, if_ _I am_ _here_ _or_ _not. For_ _your_ _sake, Shepard. For_ _you._

Finally, he smiles at her, the way he used to. He shakes his head. "Ah, Liara."

Finally, she dares to smile back. "So, will you...?"

Narrowed eyes. "Not that place again."

"No. A different one."

He opens his mind to her, without a shadow of doubt. Under the starry sky on a hill above Armali, they stand hand in hand, quietly. For a moment, Shepard puts his arm around her shoulders; for a moment, she rests her head on his shoulder.

The Reapers can only kill her. They cannot take such moments from her.


	90. Survive

"I'll destroy you!" she screeches hoarsely, out of breath and almost out of strength, almost. Her vision is blurring; the energy drinks long gone, she is functioning on pure adrenaline and on her own blood leaking into her mouth whenever she sniffs it back. She is acting almost purely on instinct because she cannot, must not, think if wants to survive. There is no respite, never was; there is only the fight, on and on, to the end and to Shepard, and if she stops to think, stops to realize, she is lost.

The streets of London are a deathtrap and Jack  _hates_  them, hates them like the Cerberus arena because they make her remember, make hear discount the losses just like she discounted the deaths of those buggers Cerberus was sending against her to kill because it would kill  _her_  if she didn't, if she realized that Prangley's barrier became too weak when he overexerted himself, or that cannibals simply swarmed over Zhang, or that a crater was all that remained of Beniowska, or that she knew by name every single marine that they lost.

Stumbling over some rubble, she falls to a knee and emits another wave of dark energy without bothering to get up. It cannot last much longer now: Rodriguez, collapsed on the ground, has ceased to provide the barrier and their squad is melting away, along with the others.

The Hammer has shattered on the Reaper forces. There is no end to the fight, only the end which comes with death.

Jack finds it difficult to breathe; her face twisted with effort, she sends a shockwave against the approaching brute but the beast barely stops.  _'Wouldn't destroy a wet tissue'_ , she thinks and somewhere inside, a sobbing laughter emerges. She barely sees Forge and Kennedy engaging the brute while Dodger provides fire support from where she lies, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

Kennedy is too slow, and on his own, Forge cannot hope to take the fucker out. Jack can no longer aim with precision, and she is out of clips, anyway. When she tries another shockwave, her stomach turns and she falls flat on her face. Over the surrounding cacophony, she can hear Forge scream in pain. He is not dead yet, though: as she raises her head, she can see the brute raise its claw to crush the lying marine.

The blow never lands.

Light so bright that it erases the vision pierces the universe, and after that, there is silence. When Jack's eyesight returns, the hulking figure is stalking away among the remaining husks, slowly falling to the ground, one by one.

For a while, no-one moves or speaks.

Dodger is the first to speak. "Fuck, somebody got lucky, Sarge," she creaks as Forge attempt to sit up, holding onto his ribs. Then she turns to Jack. "Seems like it worked, whatever it was."

_He did it. He did. Shepard did it._

The realization wakes Jack from the stupor. On all four, she crawls to Rodriguez. The girl's face is ashen when Jack removes her helmet, but her eyes are open, their look disbelieving and distant. Jack hugs her violently. "He did it, Rodriguez. You hear? Shepard did it, it's over. It's over!"

She repeats it like a mantra, as if the world has shrunk into those three words:  _Shepard did it._

It never occurs to her that Shepard might have done it but not be coming back.


	91. From Afar

There are cracks in the walls and the door comm is apparently malfunctioning. Undeterred, Hannah presses the panel again and again, until the door finally slides in.

"'Told you to fuck off, you blue b – "

A long silence, during which Hannah Shepard unperturbedly looks at her son's wife. The weeks have taken their toll on her: her face is haggard and the shadows around her eyes are almost as dark as her mascara used to.

"May I come in?" Hannah asks finally. With a nod, Jacqueline Nought-Shepard steps aside and beckons to the living area. The huge screen on the wall is shattered and the staircase to the upper floor is practically torn off but the huge sofa in the middle is intact – intact but full of clothes and datapads and soft drink cans.

Jack clears her throat. "Uh, sorry for the..." She jerks her head at the door. "I thought you were..."

_Liara T'Soni_. "… someone else. Never mind, dear. I would have left a message but the communication systems are still not fully operational."

Jack's eyes swerve at that: it is a lie, she merely isn't answering the calls. The  _many_  calls, from anyone. Hannah can empathise, but this is not what her son would want for the woman that he held so dear, and so she continues with a straight face: "I hope I am not bothering you. I merely stopped by to ask if there is anything I can do for you."  _'Cause I've been hearing that every day, you're working yourself to exhaustion clearing away the debris all over the Citadel._

The eyes swerve again, blinking rapidly. "I'm fine," Jack folds her arms across her chest, "er, uh, thank you, ma'am."

"Hannah. I meant it when I told you to call me Hannah."

This time, rapid blinking doesn't help, and so Jack abruptly turns away. To her back, Hannah says softly: "He wouldn't want you torturing yourself like that."

"Like what?" Jack barks over her should. "'Trying to help, 'is all."

Hannah breathes deep to steady her voice. "As long as there is no body, one can hope, right? 'Been there, ya' know.  _Twice_ now."

At that, Jack finally turns back, her face streaked with tears. "So what happened to him? Where is he? Where  _is_  he?"

The official theory is that his body probably evaporated in the surge of energy generated by the Crucible, but Hannah is sure that Jack has heard that one, too. She shakes her head. "He's gone, girl." Her voice breaks. "He's gone."

Jack shakes her head violently. Her face contorts. "He can't be. Can't. No. Can't be." When she starts sobbing in earnest, she doesn't protest when Hannah approaches and puts her arms around her, rocking her while crying along.

Long after the sobbing ceases, Jack says in a small voice: "He can't be. Because I never told him..."

Hannah knows what it is that her son never learned.  _Someone_  is keeping very close tabs on Jack and sent the data to her, along with an unsigned message saying:  _Go to her. Help her. I cannot._ She probably wouldn't pry where she wasn 9t welcome otherwise, but now she is holding in her arms all that is left of her son.


	92. Validation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter stems from my take on the ME3 ending, Risking Nonexistence. If you don't feel like reading it, there's a brief summary under the spoiler tag at the end of the chapter.

His surroundings instantly remind him of being inside the Geth Consensus but it is not the same: way more complicated, way more complex... huge. Huge beyond his imagination. The feeling is the same, though: dreamlike, as something produced rather than felt.

_Where am I?_

Slowly turning around, he finds no clue in his memories. His last memories -

" _Shepard."_

The figure that has materialized before him is certainly convincing but were he in his own body, he would feel the hair on his nape rise. "EDI? Where are we? What are you -"

 _Indeed, what_ are  _you? How the hell do I tell?_

The memories come back in a flash, the unnatural child's monotone as if sending chills down his virtual spine. "Did we succeed then?"

_"We did."_

"Then this..."

_"… is inside the Catalyst. Yes."_

"What's the sitrep?" he asks, turning around and inspecting the environment to buy himself time as his mind races in the circles of true and false, possible and impossible. The list of casualties is daunting; the list of survivors almost too good to believe, and yet something else is nagging at his mind: the moment of falling, the surge of power overwhelming his senses in searing pain, the nothingness.

"How come I'm not dead?" he blurts.

 _"For all the practical purposes, you are,"_ replies the exact replica of EDI as he remembers her.  _"For now."_

"What do you mean?" The surge of adrenaline comes like an echo in the mind.

_"I warned you that your body would be damaged in the process. Too damaged to continue your existence."_

_The nothingness. Eternal sleep._  Even knowing that Jack is alive, there is an allure to the concept that would make his real stomach churn.

He faces the virtual image of EDI, or whatever the thing may be. "So what now? Are you going to play god? Am I to be revived yet again?"

EDI cocks her head. _"Do you wish me to try?"_

 _Do I? 'What do you need me to do_?' he remembers, with an echo of the pain of crawling across the floor slick with his blood. He stands there, unable to answer. Jack and mom rush through his mind; Garrus, Liara, Tali, the  _Normandy_...

 _The_  Normandy.  _Commander Shepard._

_If I come back..._

_But what to? And will I even come back as myself?_

_Would I even be able to tell the difference?_

_Stall, Shepard. Gain time. Gain info._

"EDI. Tell me one thing. What about the Reapers? What are your plans with them? With the humanity... with the galaxy?"

EDI's eyes glow with light. "The cycle will continue," her voice resonates with the Harbinger's unnatural basses. Then the light abruptly fails. "That was a joke," comes the familiar deadpan.

The effect of the shock is  _almost_  real, but the Reapers had never shown the tiniest trace of humour before. "Fuck, EDI, you're almost as bad as Joker."

_"I did learn from him, after all. As well as from you. You let the geth determine their own fate. How could I deprive the galaxy of that choice, or do to you what Cerberus did? You choose, Shepard. What destiny do you want to determine for yourself?"_

_'_ _What do you need me to do_ _?'_

And the answer is crystal clear. "I cannot be Commander Shepard. Not ever again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler for Risking Nonexistence:  
> -  
> Ever present through Shepard's implants, EDI makes her presence known for the first time and asks Shepard which option he intends to take. When he explains that he doesn't believe he would be able to control the Reapers and that he won't play god messing with all life across the galaxy, EDI offers a fourth option - hack the Catalyst, using Shepard's implants as a conduit for the energy of the Crucible that would allow EDI to attempt the feat but kill Shepard in the process. She succeeds and in the moment of his death, she encases his body in a stasis field, to figure out the right thing to do.


	93. Epilogue

Many a planet, many a town still bears the scars of the war that are only slow to heal but life is coming back, irrepressible in its fragility.

Many a town also sports a new feature now: a statue of a man, in a uniform or a military hardsuit, standing determined, gazing towards the stars, holding a weapon or raising it in defiance, in all possible variations of the posture. Speeches and celebrations are held there annually, but above all, it is an easy landmark, a popular meeting point.

A little boy is running around the pedestal, squeaking as his mother is chasing after him, the setting sun bringing out red sparks in her long hair. When he spots a man approaching dark-haired like himself, he makes a beeline for him, to be met by strong arms and hoisted in the air. Seated on the broad shoulders, he keeps squeaking and hooting as his parents meet and kiss in the shadow of Commander Shepard's statue. Hand in hand, they start walking towards their home, a family among many others.

On their way, they never look at the statue, no-one really does. Heroes on pedestals never walk among the mortals, and if there is a likeness, no-one ever looks for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the end. Originally, Shepard was not meant to survive. I had in mind an artsy, heart-wrenching ending to the EDI story – and I was unable to write it. Shepard deserved the life he never had.
> 
> My huge thanks to everyone who followed the story.


End file.
